Harry Potter and The Sixth Year From Hell
by Done Gone Died On Us
Summary: On Hiatus. Penname changed to avoid Mafia.
1. Ginny Goes Blonde

For Harry, the summer with the Dursleys was strained to say the least. Petunia and Vernon couldn't really say anything to Harry as they were really scared of all the threats they'd received from his friends, and Dudley (since his encounter with the dementors) could hardly speak at all to anyone. Harry had grown to the point of gangliness. He stood proudly at about 5"10', just a few inches shorter than curly haired Ron Weasley, his best friend. As Harry tugged on the collar of his black cloak and stuffed the last of his books into his trunk, there was a knock at his door.

"Get out boy, some of the _freaks_ are here to see you," the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia called. 

"Coming!" he yelled. Nevertheless she kept knocking the door to his room and jiggling the doorknob annoyingly. He opened the door with a force that slammed it against the wall and pushed past his horse-faced aunt to run downstairs and meet his friends after a week of being deprived of all owls and correspondence.

"HEY!" the woman at the door said startling Harry silly. She hugged him briefly, and affectionately, and as soon as she let go, he was caught in another embrace, this time of Hermione Granger's, whom (also) he hardly recognized. 

"Harry," said Hermione, "Meet the new and improved, Ginny Weasley!" Harry stared at the beaming fifteen-year old in front of him, now seeming very faintly recognizable. She gave a little giggle and Harry nearly blanched.

"Bu-but," he spluttered, "she's _blonde_!"

"Yea, I know," Hermione grinned, "isn't it great?" 

"Erm--ahh,"

"I found the spell for it in our new Charms book!" Hermione was positively glowing at her grand accomplishment. But Harry, fortunately, was saved the need to compliment her further as Ron had just appeared behind Hermione, putting his arm around her.

"Hey, mate, need any help with the luggage?" Harry nodded, and he and Ron went up the stairs while the girls trailed, giggling, behind.

"What's going on with..er...V-Vol" he gulped, Hedwig giving encouraging hoots in the background, "You-Know-Who?" Ron had said the last part in a whisper.

"He's getting ready for the war, the Confrontation, you know, I haven't been able to see much in the dreams because he's taken a lot of preventive measures...now that he knows and all," Harry said. "I've been trying really hard with the Occlumency, too, but it doesn't seem to be doing _me_ any good," Harry said forebodingly. Ron nodded, his eyes darting to the window unconsciously, then back to Harry's face. 

"Tonks and Moody have their cloaks, and they want you to use yours as well. There are a lot of Death-Eaters about, you know, still hoping to take you by surprise. We're getting to King's Cross by Portkey, of course, so y'might want to warn the muggles." Ron glanced warily at the windows as he spoke in a hurried whisper.

Harry and Ron came downstairs noisily dragging Harry's belongings behind them. "I'M LEAVING!!" Harry yelled to his guardians in the den, but there was nothing but the loud chatter of the telly for a response. His expression was completely neutral, although, because he had gotten used to their 'I-don't-know-him-he-just-lives-with-us' behaviour. Ron and Hermione shared a meaningful look as Harry, slipping the cloak over himself and his things, left obliviously.

"Excuse me," a mousy little brunette girl approached Harry at the entrance to the platform. 

"Yes?" Harry said, a bit testy. Moody's over-protective, over-cautious attitude was very slowly beginning to grate on his nerves. HOW in the world anyone could intercept Portkey was beyond him, but of course, someone was always after his blood, or Moody's, else life just wasn't any fun anymore. 

"Erm, I know this sounds stupid, but do you by any chance know where erm--" she nervously adjusted the huge, round glasses on her nose, "Platf-form nine and thr-ree-quarters-is?" she stuttered. Harry's expression softened, as he remembered his own first-year, and Molly teaching him how to go through the wall.

"Now, now, that's all right," he said consolingly, patting her on the back, "just run through that barrier right there," he said, the little girl's widened eyes going unnoticed.

'W-wait, what?" the little girl asked in a shrill tone. Harry stopped and smiled at himself. He had gotten so used to magic that he was slowly forgetting how incredulous it must sound to ordinary..._muggle_...people. 

"It's ok, don't worry, I thought it was quite stupid myself. Just go up to it with your things and lean on the wall and you'll pass through. I'll do it with you, if you want." The little girl nodded, with some reluctance, and both of them safely passed the barrier to the other side where the rest were waiting.

"What's your name?" Harry asked.

"Melly--er, Melly Andrews," she answered shyly turning her gray eyes upon him. She was curiously eying the Express and the people clamoring around, and then the small odd bunch of people looking at her and the nice boy next to her with a sort detached interest. The only one who wasn't--a red-headed boy--was leaning against a nearby iron shaft, whistling, and throwing a minute owl up and down as if it were a ball. The owl seemed to be enjoying it (it was hooting happily), to her surprise, and for a second, she couldn't pry her eyes away from the bewildering sight. 

"This is Melly," he told them, "and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Tonks, Moody, and I'm Harry," he finished, gesturing to each of them in turn. Melly gave a tremulous little smile at them as they were introduced.

"Hi. Do you mind if I just...stay with you guys until I get to this erm..Warthogs school? I won't make much noise, really, and I'll stay out of your ways," she said quietly. 

"Sure! We'd love for you to hang out with us," Hermione said, and Ginny nodded. Ron although, was still looking a bit dubious. Pig had flown up to converse with Hedwig, and Ron's hands were in his pockets. 

"Come on you kids, best get on the train 'fore you miss it. Then its back home for you lot, I'll make you pick out the lawn gnomes and stun the pixies all year long if I can," Tonks urged. She was, today, an ugly blonde woman no older than twenty-five, and looked a lot like Petunia but for her unbefitting lavender robes. Her eyes were narrowed evilly, but her mouth was curved into a happy grin. Melly, somewhat afraid, scampered off to the giant, red Hogwarts Express, with the older group close behind.

As soon as they got on the train, although, they were met with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Harry froze, his expression turning unconsciously frosty and Ron put his hands in his pockets (for his wand) daring them to say something. Melly stood behind Hermione, confused (and flanked). Surprisingly, they said nothing, and passed by not even making any prolonged eye-contact.

"Who were they?" Melly asked when they were out of earshot.

"The resident goons, as they fancy themselves, I'd tell you to stay out of their ways if you can Melly," Ron advised as the stowed away their belongings in their customary compartment. Without looking back at her, he proceeded to free some kind of (obviously) dangerous creature from a side pouch of Harry's duffel bag. 

"Neville says that his grandma saw the Malfoys over summer at the Ministry," Ginny began, sitting down and disinterestedly looking out at King's Cross, slowly passing away. "Why did you let that stupid thing out anyway?" she inquired rhetorically. It was only a tiny golden ball, with wings, Melly noted, but did not stop staring at it, as though bewitched.

"How do you know what Neville's saying?" Ron asked, also watching the progress of the Snitch, flitting round and round his sister's head. 

"Oh grow up Ron, I can talk to whomever I want you know, and besides, do you really think Neville will seduce me or something?" Hermione snickered and Harry hastily hid a grin. The train gave a slight lurch, starting to move faster, and the frightened little ball scurried off in the blink of an eye. Melly grew bored of trying to spot it after a while, and even of the others talking of people who she did not know.

"Do you two go out?" Melly asked Ron, attempting to get in the loop. He looked horrified for a second, but was quick to recover.

"NO! She's my-my sister! Guh! Eww..."

"I'm sorry," Melly apologized, grabbing the window seat before Ron sat down so that he almost dropped on the floor. He caught himself and nimbly jumped forward next to his sister. Just as soon as Melly sat down, although, she jumped up. There was a loud bang and someone thrust their compartment door open. A short, slightly pudgy boy stormed in.

"Hey you guys, have you seen Trevor, by any chance? Malfoy seemed to think it was funny putting one of the Weasley sweets in his cage, and I suspect, knowing my luck, it was a Mind-Muddling Mint. I hope he didn't jump out the train window _again._" He slammed the compartment door shut, startling everyone a bit, and pushed through to the window seat that Melly was about to sit in. 

"Melly, meet Neville Longbottom," said Ginny, whose hair was turning into a slightly more becoming strawberry blonde shade, as Melly grudgingly took the seat next to Neville and the train gave a final toot before jerking to a start.

"He's just not as...energetic as used to be," Neville grumbled in response, "I've tried telling him to be careful..."

"Hello Neville," came another voice not long after the train had exited the station. There was a feeble croak, and Luna Lovegood entered the already crowded compartment with Trevor, Neville's extremely old toad. "I found your pet," she said. Neville broke off from his narration to Melly about all the stupid things Malfoy had ever done to rush to his drugged pet. Melly glanced incredulously at Neville then back at the toad in Luna's hand. The saturnine looking girl smiled inquisitively at all of them, and her pensive eyes seemed to linger on Melly like she was asking for an introduction.

"This Trevor's a _toad?!_" Melly asked awed, fixing her eyes on Ginny. She nodded nonchalantly, looking at the subject under question, who was then struggling in Neville's hands as he cooed sickeningly to it. 

"Er--Melly meet Luna Lovegood, Luna, Melly Andrews," Ginny said, glancing out of the window once again, popping a bubble on an old piece of Drooble's Best. 

"Up for a game of Snap, anyone?" Hermione asked perkily, adjusting herself closer to Ron so that they could fit Luna in the compartment.

After Ginny'd won the first three games of Exploding Snap, and Melly the next two, Harry left the compartment under the guise of "using the privies". Ron and Hermione followed him with their eyes, worried, but Harry--possibly ignoring them--dazedly wandered off to find an empty compartment just to think about his forthcoming year, thoroughly irked by how unaffected his friends were of the circumstance. The Snitch followed him, though he swatted it away exasperatedly. He remained defiantly unaware of all six pairs of eyes suddenly focused on him, and even of the abrupt silence. He simply walked out, and despite Melly's curiousity, everyone else even turned back to the deck of cards as if nothing had happened. 

Harry circumstance wasn't all that bad, in retrospect (or so he thought), just intense for him because he'd been living so long as a muggle, and he'd known almost nothing else. Now death, and sorcery, secrets, and betrayal were almost normal occurrences. He thought of Sirius Black, the nearest thing to a father he'd ever had, and Cedric, a dear, albeit not so near friend and contender. He thought about Wormtail. His blood boiled. He stopped thinking quite so much to calm his nerves lest he'd blow something up. He'd had enough of the Statute of Underage Wizardry to last him after almost being expelled the year before. 

Devoid of anything else to do, Harry looked out of the window, reluctantly admitting that he really didn't see the need to sort out his mind as much as he thought he did. The commotion of his friends seemed much more appealing now than an oppressive silence. A silence which invited thoughts of his godfather almost like the tantalizing veil behind which he had disappeared. Like house-guests come to feed on his peace of mind rather than the burnt chicken, or the watery tea. Just then, Ron and Hermione barged in the compartment.

"Thank Merlin, I thought those youngens would never leave me alone!" Ron gushed. Harry looked away, unable to get over how transparently cheery he was acting. Like he needed their sympathy... 

"You were once in their same shoes, Ron," Hermione reprimanded predictably. Harry smiled, glad that atleast one thing hadn't changed throughout the five years that he'd been in the wizard world. Ron wasn't so bad either.

"So. How's your summers been? I heard from Fred and George that you two were going out?" Harry said, anticipating the resolution of an affair that had caused much regret and jealousy during his insomniac contemplations. Ron and Hermione exchanged a nervous glance like they were consulting on how much detail to divulge. 

The twins now owled him as much as (if not more than) Ron and Hermione, often including tokens of appreciation, or samples of product from their shop, or rarely, Daily Prophet excerpts of themselves (ads, showcase articles etc,) even though Harry received the newspaper at home himself. He felt a gleeful feeling bubbling within him, which Hermione mistakenly perceived to be a happier expression. 

"Y-you mean...you're not angry?" Hermione asked, searching his face. Harry gave her a long, steady look.

"Oh, of course not. Just because I'm over here wallowing in denial, I don't expect the rest of you to stop enjoying life altogether," he said, visibly serious. He smiled, biting back the sarcasm from reflecting on his face, and Ron let out a suppressed breath, gladly emulating the action.

"We loved him too y'know?" whispered Hermione, like she genuinely cared, and Ron nodded in that way which previously had consoled him on every occasion but this one. He tried to contain his anger. _"why the hell don't you act like it!" _he considered yelling, but that would have been unfair. Harry stuck a fake smile on his face which was as good as if he had been practicing in front of the mirror. Which he had, as pathetic as it sounded.

"I know," he said to Hermione, turning to a small hole in the seat in front of him. After a silence, Hermione said:

"That's all in the past now anyway, because we broke up. I couldn't stop arguing with him," she sighed, "guess it wasn't meant to be at all," she said lightly. In complete contrast, Ron was looking openly distraught.

"I hope not because of me," Harry said, unsure of upsetting the already precarious mood of the compartment. He repressed the now familiar jealousy welling up inside him. Maybe their romance was deeper than he had been expecting. Maybe it would _not_ be over in a week or two...All her letters had been addressed from the Burrow anyway...

"Of course not, Harry," Hermione replied airily, pointedly glaring at Ron for some reason which completely eluded him.

"So I hear the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is going well. And Skeeter's actually done a cover story in _The Quibbler_?"

"The magazine's very famous now. Especially with gossipy housewives across the wizarding community. It _is _a tabloid, after all. Rita's target market," Hermione supplied. "She's really happy getting all that attention, and lucky for us, without so much trouble."

"And Mum's been trying to solve the mystery of how Fred and George got enough money to rent that space in Diagon Alley," Ron said. Harry turned to the rip in the leather seat, now partially covered by Hermione's hand.

"I wouldn't put it past them to have done it legally," said Hermione, her tone predictably disapproving. Her nails were painted with pink polish, chipped off mostly, and completely gone on both of her thumbs.

"Well, they told me they heard something of the old Extendable Ears--which can resist mum's charms now, by the way--guess who's going to be Defense teacher this year!"

"Who?" asked Hermione, and Harry perked, curious.

"Guess!"

"Erm--" Harry began, but Ron cut him short impatiently.

"Don't tell anyone," he said, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, he glanced about looking for eavesdroppers, "It's Tonks!"

"What?!" Harry said, mirroring by speech the expression on Hermione's face.

"SHH! She's going to be undercover, of course, and get this, as a _man_--"

"But you can track things like that, can't you? Her abilities, I mean?"

"I don't think so, Harry. I did some research on it. Ironically enough, we're learning about Morphmagi in Transfiguration in seventh year, I took the liberty of buying our next book too," (Ron grimaced) "and it's this odd ability-- when a witch or wizard, or even muggles sometimes can distort their body's constitution to conform to anyone else's from even their vaguest memories," Hermione caught the glazed look in Ron's eyes, "Well, the point is, it can never be traced unless the person who he or she's imitating comes about and tattles or something. That can't happen, right?"

"No! Apparently, this man is really Tonks's dead boyfriend...she'd turned him into a kneazle when they'd had a row once, and he had a nasty run in with the gang of rabid dogs about the neighborhood." He grimaced. 

At that precise moment, there was soft rap at the door, and Hermione stood to get it. It was the snack-lady with the trolley full of sweets. Harry and Ron realized that they were quite starved and emptied out their pockets, obviously intending to buy up all her stores. Of course, it'd had an Endless Enchantment on it ("_Afinificus!"_), as Hermione eagerly pointed out.

When they'd finished their pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs, and snacked on an adequate amount of a number of other tooth-rotting candies, Ron and Harry chatted pointlessly about a great number of things. Hermione, on the other hand, continued to munch on hers, and then when she was out, Harry's sweets until nearly the end of the train ride. She explained that her parents (being dentists) had forbidden any candy in the house at all. Harry and Ron nodded supportively, then went back to discussing Quidditch.

* * *

Dinner was glorious, and quite happy externally, despite all the turmoil and politics of the outside world. It was in no means the same as always, although, for their till now unchanged and reliable Headmaster looked very weary. Albus Dumbledore seemed impenetrable, yet physically harried. It was as if he had suffered some sort of tribulation and emerged victorious, against the odds. His expression was defiant, although his speech was brief by tradition, consisting of the same routine announcements. Stay out of the Forbidden Forest, he'd said, and to enjoy the food. His blue-eyed gaze was fixed on Harry for a bit longer than usual, but no one but himself and the recipient noticed. The older students were somewhat miffed by the touched appearance of their teacher, who was supposedly untouchable. It was the only reason they were _in_ school, because Dumbledore was untouchable, but the first and second years were unaffected by the change in the demeanor of...almost all the teachers at the Head Table.

Hermione and Ron were staring at each other when they thought that one of them weren't looking at the other, and Harry was persistently trying to be oblivious to the whole thing, offering the potatoes or chicken or the pepper to lure them out of there uncomfortable states. About halfway through the Feast, when he was quite near fed up and gave up the attempt, getting himself two more legs of chicken instead, he'd caught Ginny's understanding look from further down the table. He gave a small smile, trying to keep his eyes off her blond hair. 

As people began to finish their meals, the prefects from the different houses stood up to lead the first years to their dormitories. There was a bitter look in Ron's eyes as if he were dreading this same occasion throughout the meal to be alone with Hermione. Harry promised to resolve the issue among them later, when Ginny approached him.

"Like the hair, I promise," Harry said, raising his hands defensively.

"It's ok, Harry," she laughed, "It's not permanent, it wears off in twenty-four hours." They began walking. "I've been putting up with Ron and Hermione's bickering almost all summer. You should just try to dodge all the owls flying in from every opening in the house when he's trying to ignore her."

"What happened anyway? They've been trying to hide everything from me like I was made of glass or something," Harry explained, unable to hide a slight hint of remorse.

"I think they really liked each other at first," she began as they walked out of the Great Hall toward the Gryffindor Tower, falling behind all the others headed the same way. "He asked her out right after she'd broken up with Krum. The long distance thing wasn't working. As a matter of fact I think you were over then. Downstairs with Bill and Charlie. Hermione rushed to find me and she couldn't shut up about him." Ginny glanced at Harry's slightly betrayed expression. 

"I can't believe how deceitful they are. I mean, what else are they keeping from me, I thought I was their best friend, you know?" he told Ginny, so caught up in his anger that he was more candid than he'd meant to be. Ginny nodded, understanding, despite how childish it later sounded to him.

"I don't think she really liked him that much anyway, it was more that she was satisfied that he'd finally admitted his feelings. As cruel as that sounds. You know typical know-it-all Hermione, right?" 

They'd slowed so that there were hardly any people at all in the hallway around them. A fifth year Gryffindor Prefect was walking hurriedly back from the direction of the Tower and Ginny stopped him.

"Hey Tony, you wouldn't happen to know the password by any chance, would you?"

"Of course I would Weasley, I'm Prefect for a reason you know," he said, pointing to his Badge and sticking out his tongue. "It's _Belgarath the Eternal_," he said, grinning suggestively, "Have a nice night, blondie." He waggled his eyebrows. Ginny grimaced. 

"But she started liking him more and more, she even _told_ me so," Ginny continued when Tony'd left, "but now she's just stopped. She'd been telling me everything, and all of a sudden, she's just retracted into this shell. She's so jumpy, and she doesn't even argue with Ron anymore, its weird."

Harry agreed, nodding. The thought of Ron and Hermione not arguing was strangely sad, though he would _not_ in the least miss it. 

"Personally, I think she misses Krum. Belgarath the Eternal," said Ginny, and the Portrait swung open. Before Harry could enter, however, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find the stern bespectacled face of McGonagall hovering over him. A sense of foreboding enveloped him, and he'd wondered what he'd possibly done, or forgotten to do this time. 

"I'll catch up," said Ginny, waving him off.

Her office, which he'd seen on many occasions, was quite different this time around. It was...empty. But for a desk and chair in its usual position, the room was totally devoid of anything.

"I'm...moving to a more...airy room," she explained, walking around to take a seat and gesturing for Harry to do the same. He did, glancing warily at her face for any sign of what kind of trouble he was in.

"I'd like to discuss your O.W.L.s, Harry." McGonagall said. Harry shifted in his chair.

"They were really good, predictably," Harry's eyes widened, "now don't get ahead of yourself, I never said that you'd used all of your potential." 

"But Professor, I've never really had the opportunity to concentrate on my academics with all the extra things going on what with--"

"Now, don't start that with me, young man." she reprimanded, "You and I both know perfectly well that you don't put nearly as much effort into your studies as you ought to. And I'm surprised at your remarkable laziness because under the influence of Miss Granger, I'd expect much much better from you." 

"And your friend Ron, to a lesser extent," she added as an afterthought.

"But Professor, Hermione is really smart! She can remember anything, she--" he let the matter drop, noticing the steely look in his teacher's gray eyes.

"I'm sure you remember the Career Advice session last year, when you'd asked about the requirements of your own career choice; I assume you're still interested?"

Harry nodded, sitting up. "Of course, but Potions--" 

McGonagall allowed a soft smile before continuing. "According to my score report here," she consulted the notepad in front of her, her glasses sliding down to the bridge of her nose, "You've Outstandings in Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Herbology." Harry nodded. "Amazingly enough, Exceeds expectations in all of your classes but History of Magic, and Divination, which I don't give all that much importance to anyway," she glanced at him sternly, and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"But, Professor, you told me last year that Professor Snape doesn't accept Exceeds Expectations in his N.E.W.T.s levels, and I understand that that's a prerequisite for Auror training?"

"Yes, but Professor Snape holds a particular--prejudice towards you for reasons that are quite unbeknownst to me, so I think to compensate for the injustice, I will speak to him as Head of your House, on your behalf." Harry was momentarily stunned at the implied favoritism in that proposal. "But that by no chance means that I'm partial to you, Potter, if anything, this Potions class will only mean _more_ commitment and hard work."

"Of course, Professor," Harry agreed.

"I also mentioned tutorials to get you into shape for N.E.W.T.s, and though I understand it would be the first thing you'd like to forget, I'm still willing to train you, but Harry--" her voice softened, "if you're serious about this, I'd strongly advise you to start taking your studies just a bit more, well, seriously." Harry nodded in compliance, barely taking it all in. McGonagall wanted to _tutor_ him?

"There are also the _Remedial Potions_ lessons that you must resume with dear Professor Snape," Harry was surprised to hear the wry humor in her tone and the slight smirk on her lips. "I want you to look over your schedule now, and take it with you, make all the necessary psychological adjustments." She was now being openly sarcastic, Harry thought unbelieving. He took the schedule she was holding out.

It was very tough. He had N.E.W.T level classes for Transfiguration, Defense, Charms, _and_ Potions, and Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures on top of that. Occlumency lessons, tuition, and Quidditch atop classes, Harry thought he'd probably need a Time Turner to fit it all in. He was suddenly filled with a profound respect for Hermione managing her life and S.P.E.W. and even Ron. But atleast he no longer had Divination, or History of Magic, he thought, attempting to be positive. And as captain (he'd been euphoric when he heard from Dumbledore that Angelina'd appointed him)

"Call this a momentary weakness, Potter," McGonagall said, as he began to walk to the door, "But I have very high expectations of you. And a very strong belief that you'll rise to the standard. All of us do, to some extent, even Severus, though he's as ready to see you fail." Harry wondered of _"all of us"_ included his teachers, or even Moody, and Arthur and Molly, and the others in the Order.

"I know you were looking forward to having Weasley in all of your classes, but I'm telling you now you're in for a disappointment. You may soon have to face the fact that you and Weasley were meant for different lifestyles. You are a highly talented wizard, Harry, and the Choice that You-Know-Who made, between you and Longbottom, I suspect, wasn't entirely his choice at all."

"Good luck," she said. Harry closed the door and walked all the way to the Dormitories in a daze, falling asleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was never aware of the fact that all of the sixth year Gryffindor boys were in bed _but_ Ron.


	2. The New McGonagall

When Harry came downstairs for Breakfast, he found Ron and Hermione in extraordinarily good moods.

"Hello, Harry, How are you this morning," Ron said, smiling in an almost scary way. Hermione stuck a platter of crispy bacon up to his nose. 

"Have some breakfast, Harry," she said.

Harry yawned, warily eyeing the pair of them, but too tired to comment. They'd probably just gotten back together again. It had been his first in many consecutively endless nights to get decent sleep. He'd lately been dreaming of a river, well-more like a shallow fast-moving pond, really, and he could see, almost tangibly feel the texture of even the pebbles on the bottom of it. It was odd. Very peaceful, yet disconcerting because the rippling and flowing of the water made him queasy, and he always woke up, his scar hurting, and the back of his eyes burning. 

He would've told somebody had this been the end of last year, but it was occasion so normal these days that to tell someone every detail of every gory or disturbing dream would have been a vast and exhausting task. He absently picked off a string of bacon from the plate that Hermione had offered him earlier and began chewing on it. He noticed that he was still wearing his school uniform because he'd forgotten to change the night before. He dug in his robe-pocket, fishing out the crumpled piece of paper that was his timetable. He made a mental note to head to the Prefect's Bath before heading to classes (Ron had told him the password). 

"Can I see your timetables?" Harry asked, wanting to see what Minerva'd referred to about "changes in lifestyles", or whatever she'd been babbling about. 

He saw that, as per the Professor's word, Hermione's looked almost identical to his own except for his Astronomy and N.E.W.T. Defense classes, in which place Hermione had Runes and Arithmancy. Ron's on the other hand was different from either of their schedules. He had all the basic classes with them still, but he was taking N.E.W.T. level classes in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. He was taking Astronomy and also Muggle Studies--a beginner class which because of his lack of prerequisite he would have to take with the fourth-years, which he probably figured would be easy. Ron instantly noticed Harry's out-of-ordinary attention to their academics, as they'd always been very unconcerned about that sort of thing.

"What's up, Harry?" he asked, looking at the schedules. He quickly noticed that his was different from his friends'.

"Guess I didn't do as well on the O.W.L.s as you guys. Oh well. Hey, how about the Quidditch team this year? We're going to have to set up tryouts for the Beater position now that Fred and George are gone--"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, "How did you get in all these N.E.W.T level classes? They're really hard you know, and I'd think Snape would pass Neville before he let you in. Not that you're not smart or anything--" Ron looked a little put out at being cut off, but he suddenly began eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"You told me you did bad on the O.W.L.s, how _did_ you get in?" he accused. 

"I _did_!" Harry defended. 

"Oh really? You know, you guys don't have to keep things from me, I'm not as dimwitted as you seem to think; look, it's poor old Ron who's been overshadowed by his brothers, let him have his fifteen minutes of_ fame_!" Ron spat.

"It's really nothing like that, Ron, calm--" Hermione began. 

"Well you both treat me like I'm that psychopathic dark-child seeking attention that everyone still thinks I am, how is that any different, hmm?" Harry yelled back, ignoring Hermione's pleas to calm down.

"Oh right. You just can't stand that I was made Prefect instead of you!" he said.

Soon Harry and Ron began to yell at each other, and some of teachers, along with the most of the students began to stare at them openly. Just when McGonagall stood up from the Teacher's Table to put an end to the row, Hermione'd beaten her to it. She noisily picked up her plate and slammed it on the table, managing to spill the pumpkin juice and stormed out, fuming. Her face was blotchy and her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The entire hall was silent for about a second after Harry and Ron had stopped yelling. Then both of them, sharing a shocked look and getting up from their chairs, briskly walked after her.

When they'd left, conversations broke out among all the groups of students. The teachers, especially McGonagall, looked grim.

"We're sorry," Harry told Hermione.

"So am I, Harry, Ron," Hermione said coldly, crossing her arms and looking away. They were standing in the deserted corridor outside of the Great Hall.

"Look, _I_ have some issues to work out, and I've stupidly been inflicting my problems on you guys. I'm sorry I lost my temper Ron, and I'm sorry we didn't listen to you, Hermione--"

"You aren't _inflicting_ anything, Harry," said Hermione sympathetically.

"But you guys are going out, and you're happy, and I should be happy for you guys too, but it's just that Sirius is...well..he's..." he struggled for the word, taking a deep breath, "he's..._dead_, and no one seems to care!" he paused for a bit, to register their reactions, "But I realize that maybe he wasn't the only one to miss James Potter. I mean--like he saw his best friend in me, I saw my father in him." Harry looked at his two best friends awkwardly, glad to have finally got the thing off of his chest. 

"We're very sorry that we haven't been very supportive, Harry," said Hermione.

"Yeah, I guess we were trying so hard to avoid the subject, we didn't realize you had to talk about it to somebody," Ron added. They sat down at the Grand Staircase, Harry settling himself on the banister.

"And I'm sorry, you guys, for being angry all the time," Harry apologized. Hermione, he noticed, was near tears.

"You don't have to be!" she said, waving her hand. She stood up and caught the two very-much-taller-than-her boys with around the waist with either of her tiny hands and gave them both a sort-of hug. She smoothly linked each of her arms in theirs. With Ron on her right and Harry on her left, Hermione led the three of them toward the Herbology classrooms.

"What say we beat the crowd to the greenhouses, eh?" she said with a wavering tone, sniffing happily.

The class itself was very satisfying. No one bothered Harry about anything for once, and Hermione actually kept from being an annoying, know-it-all twit. All the Hufflepuffs flocked around the Prefect Ron, who was very pleased with all the attention. Especially from the girls, though he frowningly looked back at Hermione every ten minutes expecting her to be jealous. She was unperturbed, although, concentrating more on patiently teaching students who were having difficulties with tending to their unruly plants. Harry got the feeling that she was ignoring him on purpose. 

They were tending to Jack's Beanstalks that day, which were really much like those of the fairy tale, except that the giant at the top didn't live in a house, but was part of the actual plant.

He (the ogre) was a plump, grumpy little thing with lots of hair that would apparently fall until they were bald by middle age (in about a week), and he was constantly complaining about the lack of nutrition in the dragon dung enriched soil that filled their pots. 

"How about some good old fashioned rabbit? I'd kill for rabbit, you know, you idiotic witches don't know how to cook a rabbit to serve a giant with no manners, I'd swear it," one was saying to Hannah at the far end of the room as she was picking off the dead leaves from his beanstalk. "Watch it! I can still feel that one, girl, are you blind, or something?" Hannah purposely pulled out a few perfectly live leaves in the same area until the giant howled in pain. 

"_Miss Abbott!_" Professor Sprout reprimanded. The giant stuck out his tongue at her. Harry, finished with tending to his plant, looked away from Hannah to another corner of the room where another obnoxious giant was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Gimme some damned meat, you meat-hoggin' human. Think you rule the world just cause you made fire. Damn it, I'd a discovered fire too if I weren't stuck to this damn _plant_ drinking water all day," he was yelling at a timid looking girl, his face red and blotchy. The girl flinched as she watered the plant, trying to ignore him. 

The boy next to her, Neville Longbottom, was avidly listening to his own giant, carefully putting in the dragon-dung with the dragon-hide gloves securely fastened on his deft little hands.

"Careful, there's already a lot of dung on that side. You know, that stuff's really full of nitrogen," he was saying thoughtfully, "Did you know that we were also flammable?" he said, when the giant next to him had mentioned fire, "The muggles actually burn our leaves in autumn when we finally die. They don't know that much about pollution yet, I think." Neville nodded unconsciously, patting the dung so that it spread evenly.

"Need any help, Harry?" asked Hermione, jerking Harry out of his involved observation. His ogre's head was drooping on its neck, and it was snoring softly. 

"SHUT IT, YOU BLOODY PRIG!!" Harry heard the voice of the timid girl saying to her plant. He smiled.

"Calm _down_, Eva," someone else said.

"No thanks, Hermione," said Harry, "But I think Ron would really like your attention." Hermione frowned for a while, looking over at him as he was embellishedly relating to a crowd congregated around about his encounter with the troll in first year. Harry smiled. Hermione had given him advice about Cho last year, so he fully intended to return the favor.

"Hermione, remember last year when you told me about Cho, and why she acted a certain way during the date we were on?" Hermione nodded, quickly looking at Harry to avoid catching Ron's eyes as he turned to look at her.

"Cho was telling me about Roger Davies? Ron is doing the same thing. We boys like to be reassured once in a while, and the only way for us to see to that is seeing you writhing in jealous agony." Harry didn't know much about these things, but he _did_ know Ron, and he'd just extended Ron's general attitude toward women to fit all of his gender, as he was as average as a wizard ever got. 

"I know he wants me to be jealous, Harry," said Hermione. "But I'm really not! That's the problem! Of course, I could pretend--"

"Then do that!"

"But it wouldn't be right!" Harry grudgingly admitted so with a nod, as Hermione explained further. "Harry, Ron likes me a lot. And I like him too, but just...not as much as he likes me, y'know?" Harry nodded, figuring it was somewhat like himself and Cho--though that was more of a crush.

"But then why are you going back out with him then?" he asked, now genuinely perplexed.

"I shouldn't, that's the problem. Part of me, just because I don't want to hurt his feelings, and the other part, I suppose, I really like the _thought_ of going out with Ron..." Hermione looked at Harry, trying to gauge the expression on his face. "I know I'm leading him on, it's really horrid of me, but I do love him. He _is_ my best friend, after all--"

"No, no, Mione, I understand." Harry looked at Ron, now laughing at one of Ernie Macmillan's jokes. "If it were someone else, I'd tell you to tell him the truth, how you feel, but knowing Ron," he looked back at her, trying to hide a small grin, "he'd probably go ballistic. Sorry, but, you're really in it."

"Gee, thanks a lot, Harry, you've helped," Hermione said, glaring at him. Harry smiled sarcastically, feeling happy that for once he'd helped someone else with their problems after a long spiel of being bombarded with his own stinky life.

"Glad to be of use," he said, as Professor Sprout announced the end of classes. Harry and Hermione began to rinse off their gloves and clean their work area and replace the shovels and such, but Ron was still preoccupied, and the bunch clustered around him showed no signs of disbanding. The Advanced class was next, and apparently, most of the Hufflepuffs were in it. 

"Bye Ron, Neville," Hermione grumbled, pushing her bag behind her as she walked out behind Harry.

The Advanced Transfiguration class was exactly that. Really, really advanced. There were only four people in it, including himself and Hermione; the other two being, surprisingly, Parvati and Lavender. McGonagall had paired them up almost as soon as she walked in the room, (Harry with Hermione, and Parvati with Lavender) and without greeting them, or even taking attendance, gave them a teacup and a small block of aluminium each.

"We'll work this year, on transfigurations between states of matter. There's a lot of physics involved in this where in the past you've only been trained in the magic and incantations and the technical intricacies of the matter. Miss Granger and Mister Potter, I assume you've taken some general courses in the muggle world involving this particular thing, and though you may not remember much, I expect you'll do well enough." McGonagall paused for a bit as if to let the students take it all in. And indeed there was a lot to take in, as the whole speech was abrupt and devoid of any introduction or preamble. 

McGonagall had heavy bags under her eyes, and she looked like she would collapse any second. She stared fixedly at them as if daring them to comment on her appearance so that she could tell them to sod off, or take some house points, but not one of the four dared. None of them spoke.

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione said, in the manner that was so familiar to all the Gryffindors in her year, "But do we get any notes on this before we start?" McGonagall gave her such a warm smile that the others were very near fainting. "Of course, Miss Granger." She turned her back on all of them, waving her wand as a very complicated outline appeared on the blackboard. "Quills and Parchment out everyone," she began, as they copied it down grudgingly.

Hermione'd helped him a great deal with the Transfiguration, and he found the subject very intriguing now that he was receiving so much attention from McGonagall and a great deal less mindless note-taking. The physics and thermodynamics really captured his attention, and he found himself contemplating more and more about the magic that came so easily and quickly to him, and learning to appreciate it that much more. He worked through his frustration, when he couldn't get the object to transform or evaporate, and such, and they're collective encouragement egged him on. Together with Parvati and Lavender, the N.E.W.T.s level class was really like a study group, rather than a class.

He truly saw Hermione for her genius. He admitted, she could be stuffy at times, and overly rational, but hearing her talk about the lesson, nearly as competent in explaining things as McGonagall, it really made him feel as if he could do it, regardless of his ability to do so or not. When the class was nearly over, and all but Lavender had filled their cups with tea (hers was apparently still silver), Harry began to look at Hermione in a new light.

"Doesn't this still shine a bit in the light, Parvati?" she asked her best friend.

"For Chrissakes, Lav," she sighed.

"Have you ever thought of being a teacher, Hermione?" Harry asked, eyeing her thoughtfully. Hermione's head shot up, her eyes wide. She looked nervously at McGonagall who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes. But Don't Tell ANYONE, ok? Not even Ron!" she said. Harry looked over at McGonagall, catching the exchange, but confused at why she was seeking her approval, and curiously scrutinizing Hermione's face.

"Tell what?" he asked.

"Professor McGonagall says--" Hermione cut herself off, glancing behind them at Parvati and Lavender who'd turned aound to listen. They shuffled quickly around, but Hermione bit her lip. "I'll tell you later," she whispered. There was a creaking of the door as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan entered the classroom.

"After class, before lunch?" Harry requested quietly, now immensely curious about this revelation of Hermione's, too secret even for Ron's ears. He realized that he was getting to know a new side of Hermione, whom he'd taken so much for granted in the past. Possibly the side that Ron and Ginny saw in her, as boyfriend and best friend respectively, but which he'd obviously missed. Hermione nodded, and quickly moved over to allow room in between them on the bench for Ron. 

When Ron came in and sat at his seat, he was moody and surly. He stiffly kissed Hermione and greeted Harry with a dull "Hey, mate." Harry glanced at the pair of them quietly and greeted Ron back. Still pensive, he began catching strains of McGonagall's commanding the others to calm down. They were turning mice into music-boxes as a review of last year, and they apparently had a fifty-inch essay to write that night on the influence of toad and mouse transfiguration on muggle mythology. Ron and Hermione had begun to whisper quietly, and Harry took out the Homework Journal that Hermione had given him to write down the assignment.

The class seemed to stretch on for hours. Hermione and Ron kept bickering over his mouse, which kept squeaking _'Fur Elise'_, to the best of its mortal ability, and was also looking thoroughly distraught at the two waving their wands angrily above him. Harry was only barely constraining his laughter. His own music box was visually fine, but played the Tchaikovsky in D flat minor, instead of D minor. A minor error, he thought, proud of the pun, but too lazy to worry about the Transfiguration. 

When Lunch came around, Ron was effectively deterred by a few Ravenclaw Keeper wannabes asking him for tips on the tryouts. Roger Davies had graduated the year before, and Cho had been promoted to Captain. She was quick to book the Pitch in advance, and tryouts would be the coming Friday.

"And then she was like, really rude about Harry, and how he was all for seeking attention, comparing him to _Trelawney..._can you believe it? You'd think after that Daily Prophet exposé, ooh, that Hannah Abbott--" Ron was telling them, "I'm sorry for being a prat Herms, you were right." He smirked. "As usual." Hermione gave a weak smile, and a second-year and his two friends coming up to him. He had been talking about 

"You're Weasley, right, the Gryffindor Keeper?" he'd said. Ron looked at Harry and Hermione, exasperated.

"Go ahead, you guys, I'll catch up." Ron turned to the boy, "so what'd you want?"

Harry had led them to an empty classroom nearby that he'd noticed on the Marauder's Map one night, and checked out on occasion in the past. 

"So what's this big secret?" Hermione closed and locked the door behind them. She looked around, possibly looking for an opportunity to stall, Harry rather thought.

"McGonagall's retiring when I graduate. She wants me to take over for her," Hermione said gravely, looking at the ground.

"WHAT?!" Harry yelled, shocked. "Well, that's wonderful! Fits you, it really does!" Hermione forced her eyes back up to him. 

"I'll be Head of Gryffindor House!" she cried, "I wonder how I'll ever be able to take her place! What if I do something wrong?!" she said frantically.

In a moment of impulse, Harry gave her a friendly hug. "Of course you won't," he told her fiercely, "You're Hermione Granger, you never fail at anything, remember?" She was momentarily shocked at his blatant compliment, realizing a bit later, that it could also be taken as an attempt at sarcasm.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled, moving slightly away from him, "Dumbledore is promoting Flitwick to Assistant Headmaster, though, and he really deserves it, in my opinion. McGonagall is getting a job in the Ministry, undercover for the Order--that is if Voldemort is still around then. And I'll have turn eighteen first before I can take the job, so McGonagall is going to take me in for a year as apprentice, of course," rambled Hermione, quickly regaining her cheer. She hadn't even realized that she'd casually thrown in Voldemort's name, not in the least uncomfortable 

"Of course," said Harry, nodding, "but tell me why you can't tell Ron again?"

"Well, I had to ask Professor McGonagall if I could tell you, but if I tell Ron, then I'd feel bad if he couldn't tell his family, and then Ginny'll be mad that she wasn't the one to know first..."

"I had no idea you and Ginny were so close."

"Well," said Hermione as she scanned the crowd heading toward their class for Ron, "I need some sort of _intelligent _female company don't I? If I have to hear how cute Dean Thomas is, or how sweet Ron is to me on more time, I'll personally strangle my dorm-mates. Who'll give a damn about Rules, or House Points then anyway, when I'm Head of The House, I'll reinstate as many points as I like." 

"Why Hermione, I'm shocked! That's blatant abuse of authority! I think this Ron Weasley Character is not good for you at all. Not one bit." Harry teased, but Hermione looked proud. 

"Speak of the devil. Hey! Ron, over here!" Harry signalled his arms toward himself and Hermione, and Ron caught his eye and smiled, pushing through the crowd to walk with them to grab a quick lunch, and then off to their last, and by far the most (potentially) exciting class.

***

Nymphadora Tonks was a very good actress.

So good, in fact, that she had everyone, including Ron, Harry and Hermione, completely convinced. To the trio, of course, that wasn't necessarily a good thing. She had succeeded in assuming a sort of Snape-ish character, but minus the Slytherin favoritism. She jumped at any chance to criticize all students, and more than any of them, she particularly relished in pointing out all the things that Harry was doing wrong.

They were then practicing the Incendius Charm, setting blocks of wood on fire. It was a simple charm, quick in its defense against Dark Creatures that were afraid of fire or especially sensitive to heat and light. She only wanted them to perform it to observe their techniques and how she could potentially "unlearn many bad habits picked up from a fully incompetent series of teachers, and unteach inconsistent, often useless material." 

"Remus was good," Ron had muttered when she'd passed by saying the same. She'd rounded on him, and in her raspy, almost vulgar voice, took five points off for talking back to a teacher. Ron looked indignant.

Tonks' cover name was "Bombagoo Blek." It caused a humorous stir for about five seconds when it was first announced, but people quickly caught the look of caution in her/his murderous, sunken eyes and sobered.

"Notice how Potter's wand arm in dawdling down there, pointing at the floor. Never do that either, unless you feel the renegade floor is more of a threat than that Death Eater that sure to be killing you any second," A few Slytherins smiled contemptuously at Harry, "As a matter of fact, watch everything Potter here is doing, and do the exact opposite. It's not likely that any of you idiots will even live to see the day if this situation we're training for really happened, so why the hell not go for it?!" Professor Blek was saying. Harry noticed that Malfoy was sitting in his direct line of vision, and looking at him more than a little smugly. He glared directly at Tonks' scarred and carefully constructed face, hoping that all this self-restraint was going to reward him someday. Someday _soon._

At the end of class, Tonks barked for the three of them to stay behind rather harshly, so that they were actually doubting if they were in trouble for real. Of course, they weren't, but Tonks on the other hand, may well have been. Hermione was baring her teeth, her fists clenched at Millicent Bulstrode, who was chuckling softly as she exited the classroom.

"Yes, _Professor _Blek?!" Ron spat when everyone'd left and they went up to her desk. Harry was looking slightly annoyed, but Hermione (as she hadn't been picked on) retained a faint hint of a smile on her face. The ugly face of Professor Blek looming in front of him disappeared momentarily, and now, the glint of mischief in the grey eyes gave the unkempt face a distinct Tonks-like appearance. 

"I just wanted to clear the atmosphere, a bit Mr. Weasley, make sure we understand that there's no hard feelings?"

"NO HARD FEELINGS?!!" Harry cried, unable to control himself any longer.

"Jeez, Calm yourself, Potter, you wouldn't want to get on my bad side, now would you?"

"Your BAD S-?" 

"Listen, Professor, leave us alone, ok, we didn't do anything to you?" Hermione reasoned, still smiling a little. 

"Well, Miss Granger, I would like to point out that leaving the famous trio of Hogwarts _alone_ while parading about as an evil Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, in the House of Slytherin, that supposedly has a particular dislike for you three, no less, now, that would be _grossly_ out of character don't you think?"

"You don't have to go that far, Tonks!" said Ron frustratedly.

"Ok, ok, shhh, don't blow my cover, you moron!" Tonks said, pretending to look around, worried. She gave a huge grin that looked strangely out of place on her ragged façade.

"Wipe that stupid smirk off your face, Professor, you're really too ugly for it." Harry said, before turning on his heel, annoyed, and a little humiliated. He lightly smacked Hermione's shaking shoulders as she walked in front of him, repressing her giggles.

"Hey wait!" the Professor protested as they exited, "I wasn't _smirking_! I, the evil Bombagoo do not smirk! I don't smile at all because I've had a tortured childhood! And I was made fun of in primary! Come back here, and see all the evil things I can do!"

When they were down the corridor, Hermione burst out in giggles, and Ron and Harry ogled at her as if she'd grown an extra head.

"Extraordinarily bad taste in men, don't you agree?" she said. They both frowned.

"Shut up, Hermione," said Ron.

"Are you just wound up 'cos she took off points? Humiliated you? Humbled your pride?" she laughed a bit more.

"Shut it, Hermione!" said Harry. Hermione, though, could not stop giggling.

"It was really very good, you have to admit!" she forced out in between giggles, "I mean, _Bombagoo_? Classic!"

"Shut UP, HERMIONE!" said Harry and Ron together. 

But Hermione did _not _shut up. 


	3. Percy's Evil Scheme

A/N: Er...well, scarely eventful, rather pointless chapter because I'm feeling weird today. The rain put me to an unscheduled sleep, so I'm really crabby. Thank you for the reviews everyone! Especially the loyal **livelifelarge** who ADDED ME TO HER (his) FAVES!! AHH! thank you, you just boost my ego. 

To **Sam Carter**: Yes, I am quite aware of what JKR said in that interview a long time ago, but as a writer myself (albeit not as good as her, but you get the idea) I think everything in the stories is prone to change. I mean, she also said that Lily and James were Head Girl and Boy, but that didn't happen? And I think canon is leaning precariously close to R/H, but this is a H/Hr fic. Which goes to show that ff is all about speculation. And I think my Hermione would make a very good McGonagall as well as Harry's favoritest sweety-pie cuddlebums. Now, off with the ramble and on with the fic, eh?

To **h2opologal**: Oscar Wilde once said (here I go again): _'Nothing is quite so bad as not so bad.'_ But regardless, I love you for reviewing all the same, I just can't resist the opportunity to quote Wilde. And I looked up what yousaid on HPL, yeah, you were right, Barty Crouch Jr. does have it. So this is what I'll do. I'm going to dedicate this chapter to you, and amend my mistakes from the last chapter. 

And I'm really very sorry, but I'm 'fraid I can't really make a meany-poo Snape to save my life, so I'm going to have to do one of those revealing, overly clichéd Bad Snapey goes good scenes so he'll stay out of my way for the rest of the fic. Blame it on my inexperience as a writer.

So here it is: **This chappie is officially formally dedicated ** **h2opologal**** because she really knows her stuff. **

* * *

"The Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Levels," Professor Snape said to his Advanced Potions class that Wednesday. "It means that most of you dunces probably WON'T pass it, and will have no prospect of a future after Hogwarts," he was glancing furtively at Harry as he said this, "And _I_ will try my best to make your puny lives miserable if you don't try your absolute hardest to atleast do _ reasonably_ well so you do not embarrass me."

"Malfoy, What is the main ingredient for a strong Veritaserum?"

"Tomato juice?" he suggested hesitantly.

"Correct. 5 points to Slytherin."

"But Professor," A Ravenclaw girl Harry didn't recognize interrupted, "Don't you need the Ministry's permission to--"

"Do you really think that I'm that much of a moron, Miss Yarrow, to give you more responsibility than you can handle? Do you _question_ my authority?" he asked, his pallid face glowering at her. The class was shocked quiet. The girl retreated further into the shadow of the dungeon. "Five points from Ravenclaw for interrupting class with stupid questions," muttered Snape, making a careless motion with his hands.

"Atleast we know that he's not mean only to the Gryffindors," Hermione muttered under her breath. But apparently that was a mistake because the class was so small that Snape had heard her. He turned his hawk-like eyes on her, his black robes billowing around him as he did so.

"Miss Granger, where can the bird Jobberknoll commonly be found?"

"Err-Cornwall Isles," Hermione said, hesitantly. She looked petrified, near nauseated, as Snape towered over her intimidatingly.

"And what is its stranger feature?"

"It lets out a scream when it dies, of-of all the sounds it has ever heard,"

"What are the uses of the bird to potion-making?"

"Its feather's are used for memory and truth potions, and it's tongue and stomach for Mind-Control Medleys," she replied confidently.

"And it's claws and eyes?" There was a long pause.

"I--I don't know, Professor." Someone gasped audibly. A twisted sneer contorted Snape's face. His black eyes glowed maliciously. It's claws and eyes were used for the Wolfsbane Potion which he had yet to patent, and only _he_ knew how to make. But of course, not many knew that fact either.

"Apparently _contrary _to popular belief," he gestured to the side of the dungeon where the gasp had come from, "You do _not _know it all, Granger, so for the rest of the class I suggest you cease your incessant blathering and let me teach."

Hermione had gone very pale.

No one spoke the rest of the class but when Snape asked them obscure questions which they obviously didn't know the answers to and didn't leave them alone until they admitted so. They did not do any actual potions work, but took notes off of the blackboard and from the long lecture that they recieved, complete with prejudiced remarks to Harry and almost everyone else but Draco Malfoy, who singly earned the Slytherin house about fifty points in one class, where all the other houses together lost that much.

"I hope this class has taught you all that you are big-headed and stupid. That your ego is not all that matters in the game of competition, and the Head position--which I suppose all of you would kill to have. Remember, it's not too late to drop this class and take something else more mindless to suit your interest. Like...Divination, perhaps." With that he banished all the cauldrons back to the shelf as the students exchanged distasteful glances (which probably did not go unnoticed by Snape). 

He assigned them all two-scrolls summarizing the notes they had taken and dismissed them about ten-minutes early. He'd also indifferently asked Harry to stay behind. "And that means only you, Potter, _don't_ bring any of your sidekicks," he pointedly stared at Hermione as he said this, but her gaze was firmly set upon her desk and her expression was unreadable. There was an indistinct snicker which Harry recognized as Pansy Parkinson's, which Hermione didn't react to this time. The anger bubbled in him like a cauldron. 

"Yes?" Harry said coolly to Snape when the bell rang.

"It seems that your Potions skills are _so thoroughly horrendous_ that Dumbledore has requested me to resume your Remedial Potions lessons." Harry's full attention was now on Snape, but he on the other hand, was intently looking at a Hufflepuff struggling with his bag in the front row. "It is by no wish of mine to waste anymore of my time on you than I absolutely have to, so, you have one chance, Potter. The usual time and place," his glittering eyes shot back to his, "_Don't. Mess. Up._" he hissed.

Harry left, with the terrified Hufflepuff making a hurried beeline for the exit in front of him, trying to get rapidly out of Snape's vicious scrutiny. He thought _Dumbledore_ was supposed to be teaching him anyway. He inadvertantly gave a derisive huff as he slung his bag viciously over his shoulder.

Outside, Harry found Hermione and Ron waiting to go with him to lunch. They were talking in low tones with Hermione's hands in Ron's and there was scarcely any daylight to be seen between them. Harry coughed quite loudly, making them startle apart.

"Oh--er--hello, Harry," Hermione said, blushing and coughing, embarrassed.

"No worries," Harry said, smiling, but feeling oddly queasy. Ron and Hermione had a better relationship than he had with either of them, and however irrational, he was still moderately envious. 

"Are we going to lunch or not? Personally, I'm not too hungry, but you two have Prefect Patrol tonight, so I suppose you won't have much of a dinner. Unless we go up to the kitchens, of course, or maybe ask Dobby to get something to us in the Common Room if you're too tired," Harry chattered idly, hoping that some reference to house-elf labor would jerk Hermione out of her sullen contemplation. 

"How about just eating dinner, hmm?" Hermione retorted as he predicted, "Poor Dobby! D'you ever wonder how much work he does in a day, without playing butler to you two? There are nearly three-hundred picky, ungrateful, hungry people that they serve each day about three times--" she rambled on. 

The week progressed without any significant occurrence until Friday came about. Following the Midnight Astronomy class that night, Harry was very tired and looking forward to sleep, and after a week with no bad dreams, he was blissfully expectant. But unfortunately, the nightmarish glimpses into his nemesis's mind were back once more, and this time, he could physically feel what was happening in Voldemort's memories. He, or rather a twelve year old Tom Riddle, was cowering in a corner of a darkened room, and there, a shadowy figure had come in angrily. The figure, fisting and kicking, beat the younger Tom into a literal pulp, until he bled freely upon the cold, stone floor. Harry felt each cut as if it were on his own body, and tears were pouring down his face as he writhed in the other boy's agony and self-loathing. 

As Harry had cast a Silencing Charm on his four-poster (knowing well that Voldemort had purposely magicked his dreams so that something like this could happen), none of the others were disturbed by his screaming and thrashing every night. Indeed, he was so sick of his dorm-mates goggling at him that he even told them that the dreams had disappeared entirely because of Occlumency classes. Ron even believed him, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 

On occasion, Harry felt the dreams very vividly, but this time was different. Dangerous, even. He sat up at the end of the dream when a hard kick to the stomach had left him (Tom Riddle) unconscious. Harry keeled over, retching, and clutching a beam of the bed for support. There were rather large red stains on his bed, and he, sickened, turned away, rushing to the bathroom, and knocking over his lamp in the process. 

"Whatha--" Ron gasped, jumping awake, and Neville whined, turning in his sleep. Harry slammed the bathroom door, and closed and locked it, then proceeded to retch into the basin, a mixture of blood, phlegm and his lunch, clutching to his paining stomach. 

When he was finished, he limped out, his legs sore and stomach still aching, intending to go back to bed and stare at the wall to keep awake until morning. Outside, although, Ron was waiting for him, leaning against the doorway and nearly dozing where he stood. He snapped to attention when the door opened, and hastened to help Harry out of the dormitories.

"You're going to the Hospital Wing, Harry," he whispered fiercely, and Harry could plainly hear the fear in his voice.

"No--" Harry began, but his throat was too raw to raise a significant protest. 

"What's wrong, Harry?" he heard Hermione's panicked voice when they came down the stairs to the common room. She was working on some Runes Homework at one of the desks in the corners of the room, but was now standing, gripping the chair where she sat previously, and looking scared.

"He's had another dream, Hermione, would you open the Portrait Hole, he's kinda heavy," Ron said. Harry stood up, trying not to lean quite so much on Ron.

"I'm fine--" he began, but as usual, he went unheeded. Hermione followed them as they walked up to the Hospital Wing, explaining to Madam Pomfrey that Harry had had yet another nightmare.

"But this is unnatural! You can't actually _feel_ in your dreams! This hasn't happened before, has it Potter?" She was gazing at him fearfully as he'd once seen her looking at Dumbledore when she told him that the Dark Lord had risen once again. 

He shook his head guiltily, excluding that it was not totally surprising to him in the least. Ron gently moved out from underneath his right arm, and Harry was surprised to feel an excruciating pain shoot through it. Pomfrey bustled about, fluffing a pillow on the nearest bed.

"Lie down here, Potter, careful, try not to put much pressure there, I'll have to look at that ankle, hope its not a fracture. I'm going to have to reset it that way," she trailed off, helping Harry onto the bed as Ron and Hermione stared at them nervously. Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a swirly purplish thing that he knew to be a dreamless sleep potion, and it began working almost instantaneously. He saw Hermione take a seat at his side as Ron settled in the couch in front of them, looking at him directly before he closed his eyes, wincing even as the cold salve trailed down the gash on his arm. 

Harry woke two days later to a bright and blinding light, hardly aware of where he was. He tried to sit up, but his head hurt from the brightness. It helped very little that all of his surroundings where also a clean white. Someone gently pushed him back, saying something that seemed very soothing, but he couldn't understand it. It was Hermione, he realized when his vision adjusted somewhat to the light. She was studying him very intently and holding a wet, off-white towel.

"It's ok, Harry, just lay back down, and close your eyes" she instructed, taking his arm. For some reason this was all very confusing to Harry because it was Ron who had taken him to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey who was supposed to be treating him. He knew what'd happened with the dream and the kick to his stomach, which from what he gathered induced internal bleeding which Pomfrey had not been able to diagnose until it was severe, but he had entirely forgotten that Hermione was with them when he came here with Ron. Harry lay down obediently, but he still squinted his eyes slightly open to observe a somewhat blurry Hermione tending to the cuts on his chest and arms. 

"What time is it? Don't we have to get to classes?" he asked, thoroughly befuddled.

"It's Sunday evening, Harry," said Hermione. "It was a Hogsmeade weekend. Ron's gone to visit his mother, and Fred and George."

Harry was suddenly scared. "I hope he doesn't tell her about me," he said unconsciously. Hermione frowned.

"Harry, you can't keep things from people who care about you," she lectured, "Of course, I never believed for a second, and neither did Ron that you'd stopped having those crummy nightmares, I don't understand--is it that we can't be trusted?" Hermione squeezed the dirty towel in another bowl to the side and dipped it again in the diluted essence of murtlap. He began to say "It wasn't that," but Hermione shushed him, muttering angrily under her breath. 

Harry closed his eyes, relishing at the soothing touch of her hand against his heart and inhaling her very Hermione-ish scent, unaware of the taboo of his thoughts. The sleeping draught was still barely in his system, and he enjoyed the dizzy sensation it left in his head. He opened his eyes again about an hour later to see that Hermione was emptying and cleaning the bowls and the washcloth. His eyes fell then on the autumn sunset that he could see from the open window in front of him, in between a turret to the right and the Gamekeeper's Hut and the Forest to his left.

A breeze blew, carrying with it the dead leaves piled upon the grounds that looked miniscule and blurred from Harry's perspective. He looked for his glasses so that he could enjoy the scene better.

"D'you have my glasses Hermione?" he asked quietly (his throat was still sore), not taking his eyes away from the entrancing orange and purple of the twilight. He had never been one to admire nature and save trees, but being almost telepathic to Voldemort had given him an entirely new perspective to life. 

He thought, Snape, even, was somewhat like Voldemort, being so abused by his circumstance that he sought revenge upon the world. But Voldemort, instead of berating himself, and likening the treatment bestowed upon him a cause of his own faulty personality or misdeeds-as Snape did-blamed his father, who really was the one to blame. But Voldemort now, was the power-hungry villain, whereas Snape was on their side. Snape and Sirius both were 'good', in essence, because they thought they_ deserved_ the burden of shouldering everyone's abuse. Harry thought it was really depressing how the world worked, and he finally understood why people were as unhappy as they were. All his thoughts, which he knew to be more than childish, deprived him off the innocence he'd possessed as the eleven-year old first year, and that made him a different person entirely.

Hermione handed him his glasses, and wordlessly sat down beside him upon the bed, studying him as he gazed at the darkening sky.

"_We're both alike, aren't we Harry," _he recalled his half-giant friend's words long ago. They were, now more than ever he thought. 

Hagrid saw the beauty of the world in his pets--however ugly or monstrous they were, and likewise, Dumbledore saw it in his students. He himself had said once that '_Our choices make us who we are'_. They were all allegedly _good_ because they had managed to see what Voldemort didn't, not because they were somehow more talented, or better at being human. 

And at some point in each of their lives, the choice was given to them to avenge the wrongdoings dealt to them or to let it go, and Voldemort hadn't let it go. Revenge, being a hollow pursuit, had robbed him of all aesthetic faculty, and Harry took in the scenery almost hungrily, letting all his fears, and anger go for a brief moment. He was suddenly groundlessly afraid to lose the chance to choose, afraid that he'd be too blinded by rage at the moment the opportunity was offered to him to choose the right thing. Afraid of turning into another Voldemort. Of being a murderer... 

"It's beautiful," Hermione said meekly. 

Harry looked at her, as if he were someone else, and as if he were looking at her for the first time. Whether it was that sleeping draught, or some other bewitchment cast upon him by whoever, Harry saw Hermione in a new perspective than a mere adolescent amity. Was she going through the same things he was deep inside? She was always so constant in his life, and he'd brushed her off under the label "best friend", but she was more than even that. She belonged to no label. She represented all that he'd neglected to see when he was mourning for Sirius or for all the injustice of the Dursleys, or Dumbledore. She represented the million sunsets he'd missed in his rush to get to a Quidditch game, or finish _that Potions essay, _or wallow in his self-propelled misery.

Hermione met his curious gaze with her own bemused one. She was smiling slightly, and her hair fluttered around her by the breeze blowing in from the window. Her eyes were brown, and her expression child-like. The freckles on her cheeks and small nose gave her round face a very innocent appeal, and Harry carefully beheld her visage as if it were the fleeting sunset, which he'd surely never see again as he had seen it that day. And Hermione became increasingly irritated, unable to cut off eye contact or break away from her friend's meticulous inspection. There was a noise as the door opened and Ron Weasley entered. Harry blinked, losing the ephemeral moment that he'd hoped to prolong.

"Hello, Ron," Hermione said, standing to kiss him. Harry turned his eyes away, feeling suddenly as if night had come again, with nightmares of revenge, to smother him. He forced the muscles of his face to smile and greeted Ron in a warm tone, chastising himself for momentarily being so inconsiderate. 

"How're you Harry? Mum sent you some fudge to feel better. She added some Placation Potion in the glaze, I took one of them, hope you don't mind." Harry took the package Ron offered him, clutching it in his lap as he unwillingly followed the strains of the conversation. They were talking about Ron's visiting Hagrid and how he'd managed to almost tame Grawp-his younger brother. Harry nodded occasionally as if he were listening, but he was lost in thought. Ron and Hermione hardly noticed his preoccupations, or if they did, they said nothing--possibly attributing it to his physical exhaustion. From what he gathered, they were planning a visit to Grawp during Christmas if Molly, or the Grangers, didn't want them to come home.

This new Hermione was a source of great discomfort to Harry as he sat in his bed that night, thinking, and trying not to fall asleep. Her birthday was close (the Thursday after the next) and it was the same day as Quidditch Tryouts. And there he'd have to see all the captains--including Cho, and things still needed clearing up with her. He frustratedly ran his hand through his already messy hair, getting up from bed to his trunk to get his invisibility cloak. A nice stroll around the grounds on such a clear night would mollify his rampaging mind. 

Harry was wrong. He could hardly even exit the castle because Argus Filch's stupid cat constantly followed him wherever he went. And between avoiding the caretaker and trying not to walk through any ghosts, he was spent.

"Go away you mangy feline!" He whispered hoarsely. He heard heavy footsteps and a distant, disconsolate muttering from the dark end of the corridor, and assuming it was Filch, he hastily jumped behind a suit of armor. 

"Whut's wong, Missus?" Filch cooed, and Harry was disgusted just to hear his voice dripping with love and care. He peeped to the side to see that the intimidating caretaker was smiling widely to reveal his tarred and rotten teeth and gums almost a brownish color. He resisted the urge to gag, and while cat and owner coddled, used the opportunity to return to the castle. As he walked back to Gryffindor Tower, although, he was met with an even more disgusting sight. More disgusting that Filch's dental hygiene there were very few things, but this one, Harry thought, there was nothing more disgusting that this.

It was Ron and Hermione, fervently making out, leaning against the dark, shady nook in the wall. He ran straight into a knight standing in the corner where he was supposed to have turned.

"Oww!" he cried, without thinking.

"Harry?" Hermione cried frantically, disentangling herself from Ron, much to his disappointment. "This isn't what it looks like!" she promised. Harry suddenly felt an irrational bout of anger. It can't be much else, he thought to himself. 

"Have fun patrolling you two," he said, trying his best to suppress the bitterness that he could almost taste in his mouth, and walked as fast as he could, back to the Tower. But as he was climbing a staircase that lead him to the corridor where the Portrait was, it slowly rumbled and moved to the right. And it settled there in the opposite direction from his warm, inviting bed. It was as if the pit of Harry's stomach had fallen in. He sighed and climbed up the rest of the stairs; he had atleast another hour of walking to do yet, if he wanted to get back to the Tower and pretend to have been sleeping.

Mrs. Norris caught up to him about fifteen minutes later a few more hallways parallel (and identical) to one another, where Harry was hopelessly lost and considered turning himself in anyway just to lie down someplace to soothe his aching feet. When he saw the glowing yellow eyes of Filch's cat in his way, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He knocked down a burnt out torch in the process, making a lot of noise.

"Ah-hah! There you are, _Potter_," he spat, "underneath that illegal invisibility cloak of yours--"

"It's not illegal," he protested childishly, taking it off. 

"A thousand points from Gryffindor for doing illegal things!" Filch declared, his nostrils flaring, "Come with me, Potter, you deserve to go to the Headmaster. Hope he expels you!" Harry almost happily obliged, figuring that a few detentions couldn't harm him any. And as for expulsion--if it were meant to end that way, Harry would've been more than ecstatic. When they reached the gargoyle, Filch just stood there for about an hour trying to remember the password, but unwilling to admit it nonetheless. Harry was sitting on the floor nearby, braindead, sleeping with his eyes open.

"AH! I've got it! _POO_!" he cried triumphantly, "Not that I hadn't known it in the first place, anyhow, I just wanted yeh to suffer in your guilty-conscience." The gargoyle jumped open and Filch harshly pushed Harry in so that he almost fell on his face. He swore to himself as the entrance sealed behind him. He stood up and brushed off his robes, climbing the stairs and walking to Dumbledore's office. What sort of numbskull couldn't remember "_Poo_"?

The fire in the room crackled and all the ex-Headmasters snoozed, snoring softly. Fawkes was purring in pleasure--he stood on Dumbledore's desk, bowing his head as the Headmaster stroked his shining red feathers. 

"Hullo. I've been waiting for you to come in almost since you left your Dormitory. I would've come to get you myself, but you know, I'm just really lazy these days. My years have caught up with me, Harry Potter." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he spoke and Harry couldn't help but smile in return.

"Filch has been chasing you around since, Merlin's beard-- almost midnight, I think. I thought he'd've chained you up in that little office of his he fancies a dungeon or something, but luckily--" Dumbledore trailed off. Harry wondered how Harry could even know he was out of the Gryffindor Tower, and his eyes automatically strayed to Dumbledore's desk almost as if someone had led his gaze in the direction. 

There was a very familiar looking piece of parchment lying there, dots moving about and staircases wiggling round and round. 

The Marauder's Map lay there. 

_The_ beautiful Marauders' Map--the life work of his father, and Remus, and-and Sirius. A sudden inexplicable warmth filled Harry's heart and he was hardly aware of the burning sensation in the back of his eyelids. He sniffed, feeling stupid.

"I'm sorry--" he began.

"Marvelous contraption, isn't it? I imagine it must've taken them atleast a year to do it all. And after they were Animagi--well, it must have come in really handy," Dumbledore mused. Harry was looking at him almost in awe.

"You mean you know who made it?" Harry asked, stuttering.

"Of course-Padfoot? Prongs? _Moony_? They used to call each other that around school. And Lily Evans--she did too, as a matter of fact." Harry could hardly believe it. Dumbledore-his parents-Sirius--

"My mother?" he said, too confused to be coherent. 

"Yes. She was almost friends with Pettigrew and Lupin, but she loathed James, and constantly told Sirius to stop being 'Potty-wipe,'" Dumbledore grinned goofily and Harry couldn't help but let out a choked laugh. The old man had gone mad!

"I'm sorry for keeping it for so long," Dumbledore said, a while later, "But it _has_ come in handy. I daresay if it weren't for this map, I would never know not to put the two Gryffindor Prefects on Patrol together." Dumbledore smiled, but he noticed Harry's face darkening at the mention of his two best friends. Dumbledore said nothing, although, just held out the map toward Harry.

"You're going to give it _back _to me? _Why_?" Harry said, "Aren't you afraid I'll sneak around school at night? Go to Hogsmeade, and get killed by Voldemort? Upset the peace of the world? Aren't you going to expel me? Give me detention, at least?" he rambled, not seeing the logic of it all.

Dumbledore smiled again, annoying Harry further.

"It's your inheritance, isn't it? It's not for _me_ to confiscate?"

"Yeah, but--"

"But what? It's simple Harry. If I keep it, you'll sneak around anyway, as you've proven today, so why not save everyone the trouble of punishing you and keep out of all our ways with the Map?"

"But I--"

"And as for sneaking off to Hogsmeade, nothing's open at night, so why would you _want_ to go? If you know that you're in potential danger, why would you risk it for a bunch of closed shops and empty streets and a haunted house that's not even haunted?" 

Harry couldn't think of an argument for that. But--well, it just _seemed _wrong to have an unfair advantage over all those other students to be able to sneak about when they weren't.

As if reading his exact thoughts, Dumbledore said, "Your father made it for _you_. He purposely let Filch find it so when _you_ went to Hogwarts he could tell you how to find it and follow in his footsteps as the greatest troublemaker to come to this school. But the Weasley twins practically robbed you of the honor, so don't you think you deserve to sneak around a bit to fulfill your father's dreams for your future?"

"Well, when you put it that way--" Harry started, but suddenly stopped, noticing the absurdity of the situation. "_Wait _a minute. Just wait a minute," he said, "You're the teacher, and I'm the student," Dumbledore nodded, his eyes merry and crinkled, "And _you're_ trying to convince _me_ as to why I should break the rules?"

"Life is strange," Dumbledore replied, as Fawkes hooted in apparent agreement. "But if it's your concern for _rules_," he said sarcastically, "Then I'll sentence you to spend a week with Hagrid and try to convince him to take his brother back to his home with the other Giants." Harry was speechless for the nth time that night.

"You _know_ about Grawp, too then?" he said wryly. Dumbledore gave a slight nod.

"You know, I think I and Lupin should collaborate and make a map of the Forbidden Forest. I've been lost in it just countless times, it can get very annoying. Maybe when it's finished," he said to Harry, " and if you ask nicely I may even agree to a temporary trade-off."

"Erm..Sure, Professor Dumbledore, er, sir," Harry said slowly, convinced that all the man's nuts were loose and his brain dissembled and half flown off somewhere. "Mischief managed," he said to the map, and it was yet again, a worn piece of parchment.

"So _those_ were the words!" he exclaimed, startling Harry so he jumped.

"Sorry," Dumbledore said, grinning. Fawkes flew and adjusted himself on Harry shoulder, softly pecking at his ear.

"I swear," Dumbledore was saying, "I've tried to reason with that man about _Grawp_, was it? But he just won't give it up. It's like the only classifications for him and his animals is 'cute' and 'cuddly'" Harry looked in the direction that Dumbledore was looking, at the Gamekeeper's Hut, where the lights were still on, though it was about five in the morning. Harry thought, did anyone _sleep_ at Hogwarts at all? He knew Ron would be in bed about now and felt unbelievably sleepy, but what did Dumbledore do all night?

"Pardon me, but do you sleep, sir?" Harry impulsively voiced his thoughts, yawning.

"Well, yes, but like you, lately, I've been afraid of my dreams." Fawkes clicked its tongue in its birdish manner.

"The one I had last night was really interesting. Voldemort had somehow managed to enlist Percy Weasley and use all the muggle secrets that he'd had instilled in him by his _father_, you see, and he'd had Percy conjure up this army of muggle stationary: live, evil looking pens and notepads and the like, to come 'erase my beard, and sharpen my pencil' and I'm very fond of my beard. Not my pencil quite so much, but my beard is _very _dear to me," he looked at Harry very seriously at this, and Harry nodded, also trying to look grim, but soon breaking helplessly out into sniggers at the mere thought of a beardless Dumbledore running from The Pencil Militia.

"And now I can't stand the notion of going to bed because I thought maybe Percy was controlling _my_ mind, and after what happened to you, I'm terribly afraid I'm going to lose my poor beard," Dumbledore complained gravely, his face completely serious, despite Harry's rolling on the floor in uncontrollable mirth. 

When Harry calmed down, and he recognized what Dumbledore was actually doing, Fawkes hooted consolingly from his perch where he'd retreated when he had fallen off his chair. Harry noted how sleepy he really was, but he'd just been so afraid--afraid for Poor Voldemort and his crazy father. He looked at Dumbledore, smiling grimly back at him, and realized that it had all been an apology; an attempt to cheer him up. And Harry thought all the while that Dumbledore had been a mad old fool, but he was almost inhumanly wise.

"Go have some Breakfast in the Kitchens, Harry, and get some sleeping draught for the week, and some Pepper-Up from Madam Pomfrey on your way to Potions," Dumbledore suggested.

"Yes sir," Harry said, "Thank you."

"Of course," said Dumbledore warmly, "Don't forget Occlumency lessons this evening. I have some business at Headquarters with...er...the Lovegoods, who are offering an army of _Heliopaths _in exchange for an inside look of the Order so I won't be able to teach you myself," he gave Harry an apologetic look from the top of his half-moon glasses.

Harry nodded, yawning and stumbling out of Dumbledore's office. 

Insomniacs were the oddest bunch in the world.


	4. Cure for Stupidity

A/N:This is a Harry/Hermione fanfiction. Seems there's some confusion on that. So just to clear that up. and **m4x** had a suggestion (Have Harry catch R/Hr and run Hr into H's arms or something?) and **Beholdthevoid**, I think, wanted an Eddings cameo? Actually, I think you just wanted Belgarath, but as Polgara and Ce'Nedra are really my favoritest characters, I want to put the whole bunch in there-so we'll see how it goes. Maybe in later chapters when I find the right place for them. And I'll try my best to make things really horrible for Ron and Hermione because they can't get it through their thick skulls that they're not meant to be together. (*^-^* bwahahahahaaa!!). 

Thanks especially to **Jess** who's reviewed all three of my chapters with especially heart-rending compliments. And other's who reviewed, love you guys as well, you've really set the bar for my fic so now I have to try extra hard to meet your expectations. I had no idea I was funny because the last time I tried to be I got flamed to Mars and back to land on my especially delicate ass. I couldn't write after that for about a month. Regardless, thank you one, thank you all. Now, on to Occlumency lessons. 

* * *

Harry went to Snape's office that evening a little earlier than planned. Ron and Hermione were especially irritating for some reason, constantly asking after his well-being, or just watching his face when they thought he wasn't looking. He knew the reason for their madness, and secretly hoped they suffered in guilty agony. He made nonchalant references to their recent escapade, just indifferent enough to cover up his jealousy, but yet letting them know that he was not very pleased with their relationship in general. But they never could tell if he was okay with it, and Harry made sure to keep it that way, just so that they suffered. It was inhuman of him, but strangely enough, he was happy watching them squirm in his presence, and constantly scoot away from one another. (A/N:**m4x**)

But there was a drawback to that pleasure, as there was for everything else. He was constantly having to divert the focus away from himself, and back on Ron and Hermione. And why shouldn't they feel bad? They were supposed to be watching out for the poor firsties, what about them? The thing that bothered him the most was not Ron and Hermione, or least of all the firsties, but that he himself could not justify this feeling. He told himself that he was jealous because they were paying more attention to each other than to everyone else, but he just couldn't admit to himself that it was not their collective attention that he craved. It was Hermione's, and only hers. 

He found himself thinking about her constantly, comparing her to Cho, or all the girls he had ever talked to. He replayed every fond moment of theirs in his head, and because of his lack of sleep at nights, he often daydreamed of her in class as he watched the shadow of the leaves play upon the window in Herbology, or the flicker of the candle light as it caught a particularly wretched curve of her face. What he'd give for an excuse to touch that spot, that exact curve, though his conscience burned afterward in illicit desire and self-loath, by the mere thought.

And oftentimes, more so than not, he was filled with guilt. He often said to himself that she deserved better than him, and found his fists clenched and his lip split as he fought to suppress the urge to kiss the ever-present smirk off her face. 'You're a sixteen-year old boy,' his reflection said as he was jerkily dressing himself in front of the mirror at about five-thirty, 'You're entitled to your hormones.'

Where they really hormones, then? Of course not. Indeed, to his surprise, when the mirror had suggested that outlook, Harry'd had this inexpressible urge to shatter it. It was an insult to his poor mind, and all the hours of contemplation he had bequeathed to her person. So what, then, was the true motive of these inconvenient feelings creeping into his head, torturing him so thoroughly that he no longer thought about anything else?

The truth, Harry knew, was that he loved Hermione. There was no denying it any longer. For more than a year, following his first real, coherent glimpse of death, Harry had suppressed much anger and bitterness, investing all his emotion, rather, on the "_Why me?_" attitude, which albeit childish, was a much easier way to handle things. All of his repression had manifested itself as an almost unearthly love for his best-friend turned obssession. He was never loved, and knew nothing about reciprocating the emotion, and after years and years of accepting the situation as a norm, he had attributed the whole ideal to fantasy. Something to be seen on television, and something that could never happen to him. 

The series of unfortunate events that had steadily accumulated in his experience until his life was entirely composed of them, wrought its way into his personality, seeping in like lead. His latter Hogwarts years had fashioned his personality, but it only came out of hiding later on; where at the age of eleven, he had been ignorant in every possible way, gaping at awe at everything. The reality only settled in after Sirius died. Life settled in, thanks all to Sirius. Who died, and left him here. Everyone left him. And there was life. Each day passed him as if he were seeing it for the first time. Like taking off one's sunglasses on a bright summer's day. And he was tired of everything that he no longer cared but to make it to the next morning. He had only a vague plan for his future, knowing not to put too much faith in anything, lest he die. He could never know, as people dropped dead everyday, and he, particularly had such horrid luck with these sort of things.

The truth, Harry had succeeded in convincing himself, was that no matter what Dumbledore said, life wasn't worth living. It was just another mundane task forced upon by some cruel, unknown authority, and he listlessly went about it, saying little more than what was expected of him, but saying enough so that people left him alone. He loved Hermione, of course, because he just couldn't get her out his mind, and there was no other explanation for it. She was the only constant thing in his life, and the only one who understood him. But he didn't understand her, so there was no hope in that area either. Harry growled audibly, and a few Ravenclaw fourth years turned to look at him. But he was unobservant, and lost in thought, walking fast to the dungeons to get the stupid lesson over with, and with his newly granted freedom (courtesy of Headmaster) fly about the grounds a bit after. 

Before he knocked, the stone door opened, and there stood blond Draco Malfoy, with a carefully censored, yet curious expression on his face. He, too, had grown taller, and his hair now reached his shoulders. He looked imperious, and more than ever, like his father, but lacking that certain air of superiority brought along with age. 

"Potter." He nodded briefly, his piercing blue eyes regarding his haggard face and crumpled uniform with disdain. Harry nodded in response, and carelessly pushed past him into the office, quite bored with the endless tirades and characteristic war of wit they had kept on in their six-year rivalry. Malfoy's eyebrows lifted, and he smiled slightly, making note to let his father know of Potter's greatly reformed character. Maybe it would prove quite useful in the future, for his own sake. 

"Take a seat," Snape said when he'd spotted Harry. There was a suspicious look on his face as he studied Harry's profile that was uncomfortably hard to ignore.

"What?" Harry spat testily. Disregarding the command.

"Cranky, aren't we?" Snape said, raising his brows. His face nearly glowed at the opportunity to annoy Harry over the edge, and in the dimly lit dungeon, it seemed to float in air, in contrast to his black hair and robes.

"Look, Snape," disregarding the traditional 'Professor', "I don't particularly want to be here, as I'm sure you don't either, considering your infamous prejudice to my name, so just get this over with as I've places to be." There was a slight pause, as Snape apparently sized Harry up, evaluating his motives.

"Okay, Potter, wand up, then," he said resignedly. Harry felt the familiar probing in his mind, and unpleasant memories floated to the surface of his mind. After about thirty-seconds of struggling, Harry angrily flicked his wand, releasing not only his annoyance at his inability to control emotion, but all the rage he'd been feeling for no reason. He opened his eyes to see that he'd blown Snape's desk down to smithereens and the Professor himself was keeled over nearby, his lip bleeding.

"Reparo," he said to the desk, and then cast the Healing Charm on Snape, hoping he'd gotten the message across of what exactly he thought of the man, by letting him sit there incapacitated until he'd fixed the furniture. Harry surprised himself with his brutality, but it was not unbelievably so, because he felt like a very different Harry these days--one that he particularly liked because he didn't care what people thought of him. This Harry wasn't at all indecisive-and he knew what he wanted to do, and did it without giving thought to the consequence. Consequence which only held him back, and served no real purpose but to irk him further. Snape, too, was looking very shocked at this side of him.

"Tell me what's wrong, Potter," Snape said in an oddly understanding tone. Snape? Understanding? The words really didn't mix well together, thought Harry, and glanced disgustedly at the teacher that had contributed quite a bit to his misery over the years. Apparently, the look was more disgusted than he'd projected, as Snape had actually dropped his jaw slightly. 

"Dumbledore told me about your little episode with the dream," Snape said, hoping to sound indifferent. The boy really needed a talking to, and though he was a Potter, Snape could sympathize with his situation, and didn't much trust anyone else to change his outlook significantly. People just didn't understand. And Snape understood more than he let on, being one of the few left in the world to know (not like, just know) his parents and Sirius, _and_ have lost quite a lot to love.

"Its none of your business," Harry snapped.

"You know, this isn't the only way to be," he replied. Harry glared at him.

"What the hell do you know, _Sir_? Just get on with the lesson if you please." 

"Watch your mouth, Potter," Snape snarled, and Harry-against his will, curbed his temper a bit.

"Now, I'm going to tell you something and you're going to listen to me, is that clear?" Snape said. Harry nodded almost imperceptibly, hardening his ears for some insult that was obviously to come. But it never did. 

"Sirius loved you. Your parents loved you. And they will never stop loving you." Snape's voice sounded to Harry very coaxing, and not at all bitter as he was so used to. Harry looked up at him, unable to shut off the dam of tears that had accumulated somewhere in the back of his eyelids. His facade broke, and his bit his lip, nodding unconsciously at Snape.

"They are all just beyond the veil, Potter, and they live with you in memories. Not only of your own, but in others who they loved and loved them back too. Do you understand me?" Harry nodded, as silent tears slid down his face, and he sat there like a big baby, in front of Snape nonetheless, unable to control them. 

"Potter, everyone expects a great deal from you, and that can be a great burden, but you will not let it get to you. You cannot shirk responsibility, because your particular responsibility is great. More than grown wizards have had in their entire lifetimes. And you hold millions of lives in your hands." Snape made a grasping motion with his hands, and his strange eyes glittered brilliantly. "You've been hurt a great deal of times, and each time has made you stronger. Potter, you have the chance to save people exactly like you from futures like your own! Would you wish that on other people just because you're currently wallowing in some prolonged self-pity? Will you make the same mistake Black made? The same mistake _I_ made?" Potter's eyes suddenly shot up to his own, and Snape hastened to amend his mistake, realizing a bit too late, that he'd revealed more than he'd intended.

"_You_ made, Professor?" Harry said, his voice subdued. Snape was quiet for nearly a minute, considering the potentially believable excuses he could use, even an 'Obliviate' a time or two.

"Yes," he admitted in resignation, figuring that Potter couldn't do much harm anyway knowing his true character. It was inevitable.

"The scene that you so nosily investigated in the Pensieve--" Snape spat.

"I'm really very sorry," Harry interrupted, without thinking, "It was a breach of privacy. I was just a bit curious, I suppose."

"An unfortunate side effect of your lineage, I'm guessing, but it's not forgiven," warned Snape, "Anyway, I really hated your father, because he was an arrogant pig who didn't deserve to live on the godforsaken Earth, and deserved Lily-your mother-even less," he explained. Harry nodded, doing his best to ignore the comment Snape had made about his father. 

"She always stood up for me. And I expect if she'd known of the extent of our rivalry she wouldn't have married him so hurriedly, three years after Hogwarts," Snape's tone had taken on a nostalgic note, and Harry was very pleased to hear someone finally eager to tell him about his mother. "They loved each other, I guess," he went on, "I can't imagine what potion or enchantment could've been strong enough to get her to put up with that prat, anyhow," Snape finished, looking at Harry to say something.

"Why do you hate him so much, Snape?" Harry asked. Snape thought for a second of all the shortcomings of his nemesis, and tried to pick the one that stood out most. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't even have a reason for hating him. He just turned all his bitterness from his peer-pressure, and his idiotic parents to the first person he disliked.

"I suppose," he began, hardly believing that he was confiding things to a Potter--the same one who he so abhorred all his waking life, "the same reason that you hate Lucius Malfoy, or Beatrix Lestrange."

"But my father didn't kill anyone!" Harry protested, sounding genuinely perplexed. But Snape was unfazed by his emotion.

"No, but I was tormented all my life for being myself, as you were. My father hated me for not being devoted enough to the Dark Arts, for being lenient to muggleborn people, and when that stupid _Potter_ came along, pointing out all the things that I already hated about myself, I just turned all my anger towards him." Harry was startled at Snape's genuine retrospection and honesty. Guessing his thoughts, Snape said:

"Don't get used to this, Potter, I still hate you and all," There was a very faint hint of a smile on his face, "But you are really more like your mother than your father, so I'll partly forgive you for being born. For her." The back of Harry's eyes burned again, and he could hardly believe who he was speaking to. Snape, he thought, the Snape he had hated for so long.

"You know, Snape," Harry smiled for the first time since talking to Dumbledore, "You're really not as tough as you'd like to think." Snape's face hardened, and Harry began to think it was a stupid thing to say. He'd surely messed up the good standing he had with the moody teacher now. He and his unruly mouth.

"Your mother told me the exact same thing the last time we talked, you know," Snape confided. Harry (feeling faintly embarrassed) nearly hugged the unapproachable man who knew so much about his beloved mother.

"What else do you know about her?" Harry asked, feeling a childish excitement bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. His heart pounded in his chest.

"She was very beautiful. And she had so many friends at school. She was good at Potions too, but I don't think she enjoyed my company very much. Very popular, but she was really alone on the inside. Until the Marauders befriended her, of course, then all her popularity vanished. No one liked them much, because they played pranks on everyone. And they were, as I said, huge prats-- it was just their status in the in-crowd." Harry nearly laughed at Snape's use of "in-crowd" as if he said it everyday, but controlled himself, as Snape was already sort of frowning at the expression on his face.

"What?" he asked harshly. Harry shook his head, pursing his lips to keep from smiling. Snape narrowed his eyes, glowering menacingly. "You know, Potter," Snape said, getting up from where he was leaning on his table. "Get out of my damn office. This idiocy has persisted long enough. And if you don't show up tomorrow and make a decent effort to do some real work," he began pushing Harry at the door, his wand sticking the back of his neck, "Remember that you have _two_ other classes with me, and I won't think twice before I fail you this time." He gave a final thrust at the doorway and Harry stepped out, turning to see if the man was really serious. 

There was the usual hardened-convict expression on his pallid face, and he was still very scary looking, but Harry also noted that there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that he was quite sure had not been there before. He smirked.

"Whatever, Snape," he said in a mock hateful tone, turning around and walking back in very high spirits to go get his broom, cloak and map. Hardly believing that it was _Snape_ who was the cause of this mood.

* * *

The Occlumency lessons were very helpful. Harry not only learned of the intricacies of mind-control and blocking, and of the magic that allowed access to certain parts of the mind that even the owner didn't know existed, he also learned a great deal about Snape. When in the beginning, Snape had took out the more private memories of his and deposited them into the Pensieve, in the more recent lessons, he left them in his mind. He had actually made an assignment of it. If Harry succeeded in fishing out a particularly guarded memory, then he was let off early.

Although this nice Snape was generally easier to cope with and learn from, Harry found out that he was very quick to lose his temper when he couldn't do something right. He was often befuddled and found many concepts very vague and hard to understand, and these days, Snape berated him outright. He knew not to take the insults personally, but was annoyed all the same. Their common incompatibility more than infuriated Snape, and thoroughly exasperated Harry. 

As he learned, Harry would put in seeds of stupid emotions like confusion, annoyance, or even hunger and thirst, sometimes, when they were practicing, just to let Snape know that he was not liked. And Snape would childishly pick out the same memories from Harry's mind (like horse-faced Aunt Petunia making animalistic love to a grunting Vernon Dursley--a tragic scene he'd walked in on at the impressionable age of eight) that he knew he'd hate and replayed them over and over until Harry was pushed to the limits. But Harry could say nothing, just grudgingly put up with it until occasion for retaliation came up again.

In Potions class Snape was really mean to Harry, and Harry purposely messed up on classworks and often set the class on fire. Especially on days when Occlumency had not gone too well, Snape would do his best to pick on Harry's potions, and if he'd done it exactly right, purposely enchant it to go wrong so that he could scold him. On one occasion, Hermione was helping him with a Cure-All Potion, which was especially hard so that Snape had to pair the class up. Snape had come around to them about halfway through their potion making and told them that it was entirely wrong, and was about to empty the whole thing when Harry, losing his temper, flicked some at him with the stirring spoon he held in his hands.

"Really hope it cures your stupidity, but I guess its too much to hope as the person who made it is _top of the whole year_!" he had said, gesturing wildly to Hermione. Snape looked enraged. The entire class (of eleven people) stopped their work and turned their attention to the two, eager to see what would happen to Harry.

"POTTER!" Snape yelled. "I'm _sick _of your temper tantrums! Detention for a month!" he declared, "You pull a stunt like that _one_ _more time_, you know what I'll do!" he hissed evilly.

"No you won't, you can't!" Harry yelled back, still waving the spoon crazily. The Cure-All had begun to look like a crusty orange face-mask on Snape pale skin.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Snape said, waving his wand frustratedly, and Harry spent the rest of class and the next one sullenly hovering over the cauldrons. Ready to fall right in when Snape said the countercurse.

"Don't ask me. Just...don't ask." Harry sat with his head in his hands in the Great Hall at lunch (following Care of Magical Creatures-a rather boring lesson about types of dragons) after the fifth person had asked him about the incident at Potions. Ron and Hermione were looking at him like he was going to burst at any moment, as they had never seen Snape act toward anyone that way, and Harry was never too eager to tell them about what exactly went on in Occlumency. Actually, Harry didn't share much of anything of significant importance anymore. He was always talking about homework, or the latest owl from Fred and George (who he'd grown rather closer to), or the progress of the Chudley Cannons in the English League (they were still as horrible as ever, though). An owl flew in through the window to Ron at the exact moment, from The Fred and George themselves. It was a Great Horned, and it picked a sausage off of Hermione's plate and flew off with a nip at Ron's ear as it went. 

"Dear Ron," he read off to them, "'We just wanted to let you know that..blahblah'...new sweets..." he scanned the rest of the letter all the way down to the P.S. "'Katie has only very recently accepted my proposal for marriage and aims to quit Hogwarts to come join us at the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, where we live in opulence' show-offs. 'She expresses her desire to put _GINNY_ in her position on the Quidditch Team and wishes good luck to--" Ron stopped, "How come she gets honorary mention, anyway? What's she got that I don't?" he complained somewhat childishly.

Ginny, who had lately been complaining quite a bit for having to try out again because Harry had said that "everyone deserved a fair chance", was, needless to say, very happy. She hugged Hermione, squealing. 

"Angelina says hi," Ron informed him, "And to watch out for the new Hufflepuff defensive strategy. They've a new captain too." Harry nodded, the excitement within him mounting in anticipation for Quidditch season and the Tryouts. They'd need two good chasers and two beaters. Hopefully there was a little under-developed talent in the younger years. 

"Hey, I'm going back to the Common Room to tell my friends, all right?" Ginny had said, and left-nearly skipping out of the room. Ron too, grudgingly went up to the Owlery to inform Bill, Charlie, and her parents at the Burrow. That left Harry and Hermione.

"So who're you all thinking to put in the Beater positions, Harry?" Hermione asked amiably, turning to him. Harry gritted his teeth to reply, this being the first time since the Hospital Wing that he was talking to Hermione alone--and not about schoolwork.

"I have no idea," he said, unconsciously cold.

"Harry," she started in a pained voice, "I don't understand why you're cross with me--"

Harry considered telling her, but glancing at the genuinely upset look on her face, he winced, putting down his fork. "I don't know what you mean, Hermione," he said, still unable to meet her eyes.

"Harry, please, give me a bit more credit than that. Is it about--Ron and me?" Harry felt a lump in his throat. How could he explain to her--?

"Don't pretend you know everything about me, Hermione, because you don't!" he said, feeling happy that he'd evaded the necessity-once more-to discuss the three of them. 

"What's _wrong_ with you, Harry? I never said I--"

"Just--shut up, ok? I leave you alone, you leave me alone." Harry rounded on her meanly, but he'd not really intended to come off that way. She was just being so--nice, and it sickened him. 

"WHY? I don't understand!" she wailed, near tears, and surveyed him through blurred eyes. Harry nearly melted at the tear that rolled down her cheek, and chastised himself inwardly for hurting her. He was inhuman, and purely evil. He was a horrible person, he thought to himself, he really didn't deserve her. She shouldn't cry because he wasn't worth it.

"You don't have to understand," he calmly replied, but he felt far from it. Apparently, the message had got across though, because she did not talk to him, or even look his way for the rest of the day.

Quidditch Tryouts went well. Within reason. Ron was off in the Common Room, hurriedly putting the finishing touches on Hermione's present, so it was only he and Ginny to pick the team. There was no one even nearly as good as Fred and George for Beater, but the team decided on two fourth year boys who were relatively close. They didn't have much stamina, and weren't big or tall, but had good aim and flying skills, and Angelina quite grudgingly admitted that maybe they did have high expectations as Fred and George were _really_ good, and _had_ been playing for five years. 

Two second year triplets (the Diggles) tried out for Chaser, but only two positions were available, and being unable to decide which of the three would be rejected, Harry just rejected all three, much to the protest of Ginny. 

Ginny was the one who actually picked her Chaser partners, two fifth-year girls that she obviously knew very well to be good. Harry very nearly denounced her for being favoritistic, but seeing their talent, he concluded that it wouldn't be the best thing for the team. 

"They would get better with training," Ginny promised, and he (almost regretful) was relatively mollified.

Things went even better for Harry when he confronted Cho at the end of tryouts. She was still a little shy around him, but it seemed that she and Davies had hit things off over the summer and she was mostly over him. Harry did his best to be nice, and found himself too busy racking his brain to think of what Hermione would suggest he do in the situation to talk properly.

"Relax, Harry," Cho said noticing his aggravation, "I'm not going to bite your head off." And relax he did--and they had a very long conversation about Quidditch, aimlessly walking about the grounds as it turned darker. Then, he remembered, it was Hermione's birthday, and they were supposed to have met at Hagrid's Hut right after Tryouts. He apologized to Cho and walked her back to the gates in great haste. Frantically, he searched his pockets, finding the real sapphire encrusted quillpen /Cat Keeper he'd bought when he'd snuck out to Hogsmeade after Occlumency the previous Wednesday. He sighed heavily when he found it and began running across the grounds where the hut was.

"How're yeh, Harry!" Hagrid bellowed jovially, crushing Harry then pulling him in the door rather harshly. Hermione was sitting at the table with her forehead on her arms, with Ron patting her back awkwardly. "_Hello, HARRY_," Hagrid said again rather pointedly and Ron turned to give him a frosty glare. Hermione sniffled and wiped her face, turning to him, and Harry instantly felt awful. 

"Hermione-" he began, but trailed off, knowing that an apology wouldn't be enough. He dug in his pockets again to pull out the long black velvet box that held her present and stuck in rather close to her face. She accepted it, but did not open it.

"I thought you wouldn't come, Harry," she said, so softly that he could barely hear her. He remembered what she'd said the year before about mentioning other girls to the once he'd fancied and said very properly.

"Oh, you know, that old hag, Cho Chang wanted to talk to me about Quidditch. I wanted to leave, but she wouldn't shut up. I came as soon as I could," he said, looking at her apologetically.

"Oh! Harry," Hermione said, letting out a laugh that sounded rather like a sob, and stood to hug him tightly to her. He looked at the wall in front of him with the cabinet and Hagrid's china and stiffened, only barely hugging her back and praying for her to let him go soon. When she did, he hastened to twist the expression on his face to a slightly more happy one, but Hagrid had noted his discomfort, and gave him a meaningful look. Hermione, though, carefree and happy looking again, summoned Ron to her to get the two other presents from the corner of the room so she could open them all together.

The first was Hagrid's. And predictably, it was a book. A skinny paperback messily bound, entitled: _'All About Acromantulas, By Rubeus Hagrid.'_

"Thank you, Hagrid!" she exclaimed, jumping up gleefully to hug his giant form but barely fitting her hands around his beard. "You wrote it just for _me_?" 

"Well, you and those two," he nodded to Ron and Harry, smiling, "if they're interested. But mainly fer you, yes."

"Thank you," she said, again, setting away the present and moving to Ron's present. He'd given her a set of red mittens and a hat that said clearly "'Vote', and 'S.P.E.W.'" on the gloves and "House-Elf Liberation Front" across the top of the hat. Harry suddenly felt that his gift was very stupid and impersonal compared to Ron's, and seriously considered taking it back.

"It took me about two months just to learn the charms for it without your help, so you better like it," Ron warned, but he sounded rather afraid that she wouldn't.

"Oh RON, how thoughtful!" She'd turned to him then and kissed him squarely on the lips for about seventeen seconds. Harry felt the bile rising to his throat, but fought to keep his expression under control. Thus, he did not notice Hagrid studying him instead of the loving couple.

When she finally turned to his present, Harry felt very self-conscious. It was so stupid! Why had he even bought it? She'd probably not even like it, and he couldn't return it because it had been on sale. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Oh my god!" she screeched when she saw it. Harry winced, closing his eyes.

"I know, Hermione, I'll take it back if you don't want it, I mean, I know it's not much," he rambled.

"_NOT much?"_ she gasped, "How much did this cost?"

"It was seventeen galleons originally, but they had it on sale for fourteen..."

"Harry! What an awful lot of money--" she began, looking astonished. He glanced at Ron, and predictably, his best friend was disgruntled, his ears slightly pink.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just...wanted to apologize, not that I'm trying to buy you or anything" he added, but whatever came out his mouth all seemed very inadequate. "See, it's a Cat Keeper too." He took the pen from her, "You just write on a parchment asking where Crookshanks is, and it'll tell you--I mean, its useful, if he ever-you know..." Harry trailed off, feeling dumb, and looking from Hermione's startled face down to his hands. He was very surprised, a second later, when Hermione had tackled him and was holding him tightly.

"Her-" he gagged, "Mione," she was cutting off his air supply.

"Oh sorry," she breathed, "Thank you very much, Harry."

"You like it?" he asked hesitantly, looking at Ron for his reaction. He was smiling, to his relief.

"Of course, I just didn't see why you had to waste all that money like that," she fussed. She put on Ron's gloves and mittens and set the pen on the book and placed them in front of her on the table. Harry suddenly remembered something as his eyes fell on his watch. It was eight o'clock.

"Hey you guys," and they all turned to him, "I have to leave. I have detention with Snape, and he practically goes postal if I'm late." He missed the disappointed look on Hermione's face, but left quite contentedly, glad to be out of her innocent gaze, which lately always made him self-conscious.


	5. Wherein Harry is Dumb

A/N: **Angelina** pointed out some technical plot flaws in Chapter four which I have now fixed (to the extent of their accuracy) and if you're reading this now, Angelina, please forgive my OOC Snape, I believe I'd already warned people about that, but maybe I wasn't too clear. Forgive me, I get like that sometimes. This chapter is short coz I kind of changed the plot during the trip. Vacation was ok, I guess. As good as a family vacation can ever get. I hope you all had a good Independence Day as well--complete with the fireworks which I sorely missed. I didn't get to see the peach drop either, come to think of it... 

So, needless to ramble, I hated my weekend. Internet deprived weekend. Sea World was a bust, and I didn't get to spend as much time at St. Augustine as I'd liked. We _were_ supposed to go to India (Madras), but things are stupid, so we cancelled that trip--the 'rents say "_postponed_" to December, but who believes 'em anyway? I truly envy you **Milky Way Bar**, you actually get to _see _your family. :P. Ok, ok, I'll stop talking now. 

Oh, one more thing (dodges habitual audience-tomatoes). I never proofread my chapters, and I write them late at night/morning and post them a few hours later, and plus I'm not a very good writer in general, and its not like you can expect very many Shakespeares, or Rowlings in this website anyway, so just forgive my errors if you can't point them out nicely. It really hurts my fragile ego when you people piss about it, and I'd just give the whole mess up if you feel so strongly about details which most ff-authors thoroughly avoid. I mean, why should I care, really, if I'm not getting any better? It fanfiction, I'm not making any money off it, and I could be doing better things but for the fact that I'm obsessed. So I'm saying that if you can't criticize nicely, don't. It's not very flattering to me if you flame, unless your writing is relatively better than mine, atleast. Read at your own risk... 

Thank you. 

* * *

Harry eventually got extremely bored with Hogwarts. Around the end of October, his detentions with Snape were over, and so were his Occlumency lessons. At first, he was very glad that he would no longer have to prolong time spent with his least favorite teacher. Snape had his occasional moment of leniency, but regularly, he was just as contemptuous as ever. The years seemed to have built the 'nasty' feature right into him. And Harry doubted that even if he'd tried, Snape could manage to be nice to someone for a change. Ron and Hermione had broken up and gotten back together so many times that even he, as their closest friend couldn't manage to keep the record straight. Their arguments never ceased to fill him with immense glee, awfully enough, and he loved to watch or listen to them, as did the rest of Gryffindor House. But to keep the full-effect of his conscience at bay he often teased that he wanted to be best man at their wedding, or named godfather of their soon-to-come ronnies and hermys. 

Ron had become really popular so that (atleast at Hogwarts) his name was almost as well known as Harry's. It was always prefect Ron, or Keeper Ron, or Ron who's so funny my blasted stomach hurts just thinking about it, all over the school. He had become so confident in public that he was even managing to bear the Slytherins' attacks on his reputation in the school and as a Weasley. Fred and George's alleged dropout, Percy's general brownnosing, snooty personality, and Ginny's earlier obsession with Harry was all, at one time or another, a foundation for the often unimaginative, yet adequate slights that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle regularly came up with. It wasn't like Ron came up with better insults, but they could not insult Harry these days, as he never paid much attention to them anyway, and Malfoy (oddly enough) was trying to remain on atleast neutral ground, thinking that if Harry did not remember any recent affronts, his name would be cleared for whatever big scheme he had hidden up his sleeve. 

Harry observed these things with a sort of detached interest. He had been using the Sleeping Draught that Pomfrey had been regularly giving him, and he made him sort of restless and cranky on the inside, but it was like he was trapped. The dreams were still going strong, and possibly becoming more and more grotesque the more Voldemort conspired and machinated as the unease in his mind grew, but he knew nothing of it because he'd just been suppressing them. The Draught made him feel drugged, like Dudley on marijuana, yet his senses weren't at all blurred, but embellished further. All the sounds and sights and smells were intensified, and he seemed to remember infinitesimal feelings or objects with the grandest details, like in dreams themselves. It was as if his body was fighting the potion, and he hated to think what would happen if it were overthrown all together. 

All in all, he felt he had entirely too much time to think, even though he was so busy with actually _doing _his homework (mainly to avoid Hermione) and everything else. As Quidditch Captain, he planned all the team's practices and worked them almost as much as his predecessors had, yet with very little of their emotional rages and panic attacks. The team on the other hand, felt very much disturbed by his nonchalance. The two beaters, Roy and Barnes were very subdued around Harry, doing their best to keep from his criticism or any scrutiny, being of the sort that actually believed the Daily Prophet the year before. Though Fudge had retracted all of his former skepticism (and hold over the press) and Umbridge had disappeared somewhere in the muggle world in a scary daze, untraceable, it seemed the public opinion of Harry, would never be the same again. 

"Have some eggs," Hermione suggested, gesturing with her fork. Her hair was pulled tightly back from her face as he had never seen it before, and she was absently scanning a small book in her left hand. Ron had decided to sleep in and would most likely be late to class, but Hermione told him that she was "teaching him a lesson" by accidentally forgetting to wake him. She was using the rare opportunity to catch up on reading time which she probably would've spent snogging, or lecturing, if she were with Ron then. 

"No thanks," he replied, suddenly angry and nervous. 

"Fine, then. You have Care of Magical Creatures first, by the way," she informed primly, clearly annoyed by his cranky behaviour. 

"Shut up, Hermione, just coz I'm not as smart as you and everyone you hang out with doesn't mean I can't figure out my own _schedule_." Hermione's jaw nearly hit the floor at his harsh tone. 

"Be that way, then. I and my smart friends will just keep out comments to ourselves. Would that make your highness feel better?" she said, willingly infuriating Harry in hopes of finding out what the underlying matter was. 

"I wanna kick you," he breathed, clenching the spoon in one hand and the edge of his chair with another. 

"Tell me, Harry, why is it that you only talk to me when Ron is around? I had no idea you were that selfish. You hate me because I'm taking your best friend's attention from you?" Harry almost screamed from the stupidity of that deduction. 

"Of course not!" he gasped, letting out a choked laugh in the process. "I hate you because you're paying attention to him instead of me!" he wanted to say, but that would have been really idiotic. 

"Then why?!" she nearly wailed, "I've been trying to figure out so long! You're always snapping at me, and you won't tell us what in the world you're up to in those classes, what happened in that dream, what the Dark Lord is doing--" She looked absolutely distressed. 

"Hermione," he began, reaching for her hand, nearly wanting to tell her. She hastily grabbed his retracting hand when he'd lost his nerve yet again.

"Tell me," she pleaded, "Please?" Harry felt weak. He had faced a feared Dark Wizard a total of six times and he couldn't muster the courage to confide in his own best friend. He had borne many Cruciatus Curses and resisted the remaining unforgivables, but he couldn't fight a few feelings in his uncontrolled mind. '_I love you_!" he wanted to scream at her, but he ended up, instead, harshly pulling his hand from her warm, enticing grip.

"I've to go to class." His porridge lay uneaten and Hermione, completely dissatisfied as he grabbed his bag and rushed out of the half-filled Common Room, about half-hour too early for class.

"Heya, Harry!" Hagrid boomed, prodding something in a huge bucket. Water sloshed and splashed out of it, but Harry was not too eager to find out what was making such noise. 

"Hi, Hagrid, how's Grawp? Sent him back to the forest yet?" Harry said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Nah, 'course not! What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, its just..."Harry started, formulating an explanation. Should he confide in Hagrid, his oldest friend? Would he understand? Hagrid, although, looked at him understandingly.

"When I first saw Olympe," he began, "I knew she and I was two of a kind. I loved her, but it just took a while longer for her to realize that. And when she did, she was so scared of me that she nearly hated me. But I understood. And I gave her time. And when she finally admitted it to me, we were both so happy that it all the other stuff didn't matter any more like we'd imagined it would." Harry sighed.

"Oh, I know she loves me, Hagrid, she loves everyone. But I love her more than anyone in the world, I mean, atleast I think I do, because I just...I dunno much about any of this. I want her to love only _me_ like I do, but she doesn't! She loves R--everyone the same way. I mean what if you never even gave a second thought to Madame Olympe, what then, eh?"

"She does, Harry, trust me. As sure as I love Olympe, Hermione loves you."

"_What?_" Harry yelled, "I never said that I-I mean, I never meant I--to--I mean--" he was at an obvious loss for words. His face flushed and he looked down at his shoes.

"I don't love Hermione," he said defiantly, a moment later, staring so hard into Hagrid's beetle black eyes that his eyes watered.

"Of course you do, Harry, and you've already admitted it to yourself," Hagrid replied, "but the matter now is not whether you love her or not, its whether you're just going to try to keep her out of danger and keep the both of you miserable, or tell her and let things take their own course." Harry was about to say more, that the matter was not only Voldemort, but also Ron, but a few Slytherins entered the classroom, and Harry turned away. Hagrid began tending to the huge black clams spitting out at him. A sleepy Ron came in with Hermione, lecturing, right on his heels. Harry went to them.

"Hello," he said, carefully meeting both their eyes. 

"Hi," Ron yawned. Hermione said nothing.

"What's wrong with you two? Look like your uncle Al's dead or summat." He yawned again, scrambling to a wooden bench. Harry and Hermione broke their staring contest, and Hagrid began talking.

***

Transfiguration came too soon for both Harry and Hermione's liking.

"Please pass me my notes," Harry said mechanically when they were commanded to transfigure a full grown pig into bacon. "_Explain, in atleast five-hundred words, whether this requires state to state transfiguration, and in what level of the transfiguration the most molecular remodulation will take place."_

A half-hour later, Harry was struggling with his pig, which was bacon, but still squeaked enough to have Parvati and Lavender turning both their attention fully to him.

"Do you need a little help?" Hermione murmured from beside him. Harry wanted to slap her, her bacon was so perfect. Crisp, and still bubbling.

"Of course not," he spat, and Hermione jumped slightly, and moved slightly away. Harry bit his lip and concentrated. He mumbled the incantation by the instruction and the pig suddenly stopped squeaking. He let out a breath that he didn't even know he had been holding, and unwittingly, it escaped him in the form of a frustrated sigh. McGonagall looked up from her desk. 

"Potter and Granger, finished already?" she inquired.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione answered for them both. "Very well. Potter, go to the Headmaster's office. Ms. Granger, please accompany him if you wish, or get started on your homework assignment." Hermione nodded, choosing to follow Harry as he exited with his hastily packed bag. His relieved face fell as soon as he saw her following him.

"Go away, Hermione," he snarled, "I thought you _loved_ to do Homework!" he accused, swinging the bag behind him and beginning to walk faster.

"No." Hermione replied stubbornly. She sprinted to catch up with him, her own bag trailing precariously behind.

"Why hello, Prefect Granger!" Dumbledore said cheerily, startling them both out of their argument. "And Mr.Potter," he added as an afterthought. They looked around.

"I suppose you can't see me?"

"Where are you, Professor?" Harry asked him confusedly.

"Right behind this wall! Well, it's hard to explain. I'm kind of walking through the wall, so you can't see me. There's rooms on the other side that are quite comfortable."

"Oh," said Harry, "I wondered how to get in those." Hermione looked at him and the wall in turn. "I got the Map back, didn't I tell you?" 

"No," Hermione replied pointedly. Harry looked uncomfortable. Luckily, Dumbledore said, "On to the office, then, you two, the password's "_Earphones_" for this week. They obeyed him and went up to the gargoyle, where Dumbledore appeared magically from the wall.

"Earphones," said Harry, and the gargoyle jumped open. They climbed the stairs and a tiny, near naked and chirping Fawkes struggled up to Harry, who caught him in his cupped hands before he fell. Hermione looked at him in awe.

"Harry!" she cried, "Phoenixes are _really_ hard to communicate with."

"Sure, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted before Harry could retort with a sharp retort, "But I'm sure you know Harry has a particular connection with this one?" Hermione nodded, understanding. She eyed Harry with something that resembled jealousy. "That and Fawkes is so tired of my company over the years that he'd befriend almost anyone." His eyes twinkled.

Harry, in a rare moment of warmth (to Hermione) looked up at her. 

"Hold out your hand," he instructed her.

"Oh no, Harry-I-I couldn't!"

"Hold them out," he persisted. She stuck them out obediently. Fawkes flew into her open hand.

"Ease up, Hermione," Harry said, "he's getting irritated."

"Take a seat, just waiting for Mr. Longbottom," said Dumbledore. 

"Hello, Potter, Mudblood," Phineas Nigellus called down from his frame to them. Hermione jumped at his voice.

"Phineas!" Dumbledore reprimanded sharply, "don't be rude!"

"Whatever, Headmaster, sir. I still don't see why you told that boy if his part in the Prophecy is over, Albus," Phineas said.

"You _told_ him?" Harry asked, "I suppose he does deserve to know, but poor Neville he's already having so much trouble with classes, and his grandmother, why put that extra pressure on him?"

"I have my reasons, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore answered curtly, and Harry suddenly felt very rude and small. 

"Wait," he heard Hermione's voice say, "What did it say about Neville in the Prophecy?"

"Would you like to tell her or shall I?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry reluctantly turned to her, frowning.

"He was supposed to be the one defeating Voldemort, but Voldemort heard it wrong and marked me instead so I have to do it now." He looked away promptly, not particularly wanting to think about the one whole moment that he existed for. His life had no point, just the end of it. He saw that Dumbledore was frowning, and Hermione was glancing at them both expectantly.

"For someone so smart, you do catch on quick, don't you?" Harry spat, hating to see that dependent look on her face that oddly made him want to hold her in his arms.

"Harry!" Dumbledore chastised. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Phineas called. Neville stumbled in, his face pale and his expression wary. He greeted Harry and Hermione with a smile. 

"Sit down Neville. He gestured to the sofa where the two were seated, and Neville joined them. 

"Now, I'll keep this short. We want you three to do some work for the Order, you Mr. Potter, because you have to, you Mr. Longbottom, because you can help, and you, Miss Granger, because it seems that you play a part in the prophecy which Trelawney did not mention." He glanced at them for their response, but their were still listening avidly, "We think that it maybe that you, because of your skill fit the part of the motivation. You've crossed Voldemort's path sometime in your life, but you've chosen Harry over him for some reason, so now you are bound to his quest. Is that clear to all of you so far?" They nodded.

"I'm going to send you to the Black House for training for the Order for two weeks now, and then during Christmas, Easter, and Summer. I know you may want your vacations very badly, but this is absolutely necessary. Mr. Longbottom, you will be briefed by Nigellus here," he gestured behind him to the portrait. Phineas gave a large, evil grin and Neville shrunk back, intimidated. "And you two will inform Mr. Weasley, and _only_ him, and go pack your belongings. Hurry. There isn't much time, the others will be here to get you in about half an hour."

Harry and Hermione rushed out of the gargoyle but stopped as soon as they were out of Dumbledore's range of shooing. They stopped in the middle of the hallway.

"Harry, Why didn't you tell me you had to kill Voldemort?" Harry's eyes hardened. "Please, stop being so distant, because frankly it's very childish. I'm trying to put up with your stupidity because I suppose your going through something now, but I really can't understand what--"

There was complete silence for about ten seconds, and as soon as it registered in both their minds what they were doing, _kissing_, Harry pulled away from her like a shot through his spine. 

"I-I'm sorry! Hermione, I really didn't mean to, please don't be angry with me, forget I did it okay, and don't tell Ron, please?" he begged, his eyes still wide. Hermione was still dazed, and so said nothing. "I'm really sorry, It's just that--" Harry tried again, failing. Suddenly, he began walking rapidly down the corridor, his eyes down and his ears pink.

"Angry? With you?" Hermione said quietly, when he was well down the hall. She ambled robotically down to her dormitories, making no attempt to catch up with him.


	6. The Bitter Reality

"So why didn't he ask me to come?" Ron asked, somewhat put off. He was holding Hermione's hand in his own, standing at a practical distance from where the class was gathered learning about Hagrid's newest creature. Class was about to end in five minutes, and the fifth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were next. Luna Lovegood stood next to them, listening, early for her class. 

"Because he thinks only I and Neville need to go because the Prophecy doesn't say anything about you," Hermione explained with the air of a kindergarten teacher. Ron looked miffed, and about to say something significant, but restrained himself.

"So when'll you be back then?"

"In two weeks," Hermione said satisfied, "Harry says to take care of the team while he's away, don't tell Ginny, she'll worry, make sure you practice weekdays atleast if you can't manage saturdays, and to feed Hedwig because he's going to stay at Hogwarts."

She kissed him goodbye firmly on the lips and turned, her brown hair brushing his face behind her.

"Bye, Herms," he said a bit sadly. Luna looked at him with pity.

"Tell Harry I said bye," she told Hermione. Hermione nodded, hugging her reluctantly.

***

Molly pored over a heavy tome miles away at Twelve, Grimmauld Place, holding her breath to keep from making any noise to offend her somewhat less that congenial hosts (more so now that Sirius was gone) or waking her husband lying next to her. 

_Oer the ages, wizarding culture has been dependent on the intermittent prophecy to determine critical pronouncements ranging from Tuesday's brunch and Friday's tea party to intervening in Muggle Wars. Indeed, the famed Hundred Years' War was __terminated by an internal conspiracy of magical-muggle usurpers allying themselves with neighbouring countries. In the same way, the "World War", as characterized by the non-magic politicians of the age, was a result of an accidental blunder by the renowned Jewish alchemist, who unwittingly split the atom with muggle Marie Curie to bear witness. Articles still appear as recent as 1980 (Vol. MC, Issue 54, pgs. 5, 1008-1011) in the acclaimed Transfiguration Today hypothesizing on what exact enchantment was used to obliviate the woman's memory to adequately reaffirm the extent of accuracy of the muggle Laws of Parity observed as well by wizard alchemists and transfigurers alike, though we, by certain ability, do so a little deeper than they can..._

She stifled a yawn, trying to keep her drowsing eyes open so that they burned and watered. She blinked frustratedly. Molly had wondered, speculated, and marvelled at Dumbledore's perplexing reasoning. If _only_ he would explain things she wouldn't have to waste so much time finding out on her own. He really knew it was inevitable that she would find out why Hermione had to be initiated into the Order. He knew that when Molly Weasley wanted something done her way and not only didn't get it, she atleast had to know _why_ to be moderately appeased, lest he have to face another Dark Lord. Well--Lady, really.

She stiffened to attention when she noticed a chapter entitled "The Requirements of An Identifiable & Catalougueable Prophecy"

_" A Prophecy, by definition, implies a certain course of action needing to take place to bridge a noticeable gap in the logical course of events to ascertain the validity of the Laws of Parity as aforementioned, and faithfully explicated in Chapter 1. Usually, it involves a legendary battle between Good and Evil, compliant with and delineated by the moral values and ethical minutiae of the time period. It is by no other condition but popular support or other such trivialities that the parties are designated as effectively "Good" or "Evil", and the triumph of either over its corresponding does not signify a creation or destruction of parity. It is merely an accident which is orchestrated willingly, and only on the occasion that it does not take place as per direction of a certified, and recognizable seer or prophesier, does the violation of Parity take place. _

_ On this occasion, the entire foundation of magic and muggle life, it is commonly assumed, will collapse from within. The convergence of dark and light matter, parity and non-parity, energy and the absence of energy will ensue, and the fragile balance upon which the entire universe exists will disappear, leaving only Nothing, Non-Existence in its wake as had been before the splitting of dark and light courses of being--that diversion being the whole foundation of our seemingly perpetual system. Summarily, which party wins does not signify much but that one of the two does win. Hopefully one that effects a course in which as few of these inconsistencies take place as possible..."_

It went on. Molly became more and more irked, finally slamming the book on the desk in frustration. She hit her forehead, immediately recognizing her mistake. Arthur stirred in his sleep, muttering something incoherent, but went immediately back to a deep, imperturbable slumber once more, and Molly thankfully turned back to her perusal. Fortunately, the book had landed on a relevant page. She began reading eagerly.

_"...it requires, on top of a culmination of the two contradictory forces which have caused, and must now rectify the elementary discordance, the two designated guides, the respective seer, or any sufficient, a rejected lead-bridger of the parity in contravention, and atleast three other elementary persons to play a critical role in the acceptable carrying-out of the Prophecy. These three are determined by the first seer of the vision of the violation in question, who need not necessarily be he or she who is present at the Final Confrontation of the offending forces. Of the eight cardinal participants (excluding the Seer[s] present), two serve a solely sacrificial purpose, predictably, one sacrifice to each side."_

It was exactly as she had feared. Sacrificial. It had a very ominous ring to it. She hastily designated in her mind each task to the actual person. Harry and You-Know-Who were the two forces, Dumbledore and Peter Pettigrew, guides, Sibyll was the Seer, Neville Longbottom and Hagrid were the Rejected, and Lily, James, and Hermione were the three others. Aberforth had been the first seer of the vision, and Trelawney had repeated his predestination accurately. Lily and James were the Impetus, and Hermione...she was obviously the last remaining. She was the Sacrifice. Molly felt the tears welling up, and she banished the book (_The Logicality and Plausibility of Prophecies _byEmbridge Solace) angrily out the window somewhere far away to land possibly on some unsuspecting muggle head. That poor girl, to die, for no fault of her own. She should just trust Dumbledore, and not ask any questions anymore. Molly closed her eyes telling herself what she regularly told her children--It would all get better in the morning--but it did not. It did not get better at all.

***

It took nearly a day and a half for Harry, Hermione, and Neville to reach the Headquarters by Knight Bus. They had all ridden it before, apparently, and the almost reverent driver and assistant were ever more so to Harry. He was sick of it, as usual, but being in a spotlight for so long--and sometimes not a very flattering one--had taught him how to put it to the back of his mind. Neville, on the other hand, was surprisingly taking advantage of all the attention that the Potter-worshippers (for that's what they genuinely were) were giving him to be found in his company. Ernie and the Driver had already met Hermione, and knew her to be a friend of Alastor Moody and so did not approach her, being greatly disturbed by the scary Auror's snappish manner with them.

This gave Harry and Hermione quite a bit of time to talk to each other, but that was not well received by either of them. They sat quietly next to each other, Hermione looking out of the window at the things flying by, and Harry, staring straight ahead, lost in thought.

There were a few unrecognizable passengers that they picked up on the way, but they said nothing to the three, being mostly old or indifferent and involved in their own affairs.

"I'm sorry," Harry volunteered to Hermione slightly after midnight that night; she was then leaning on him, seemingly asleep, but snapped to attention, though, as soon as he'd said it.

"It's okay, Harry, it isn't you," she said really quickly, as if to hold on to his fleeting attention.

"Look," he silenced her firmly, "It is my fault okay, you needn't lie. I don't know what I was thinking and I don't at all intend to--I mean to say, I don't want to mess things up with you and Ron, what with things going so perfectly and all. It's disgusting, really, you'd think you were Molly and Arthur the way you're constantly at each other's throat and then kiss and make-up." Harry pasted a wide smile on his face, hopefully convincing, while secretly plotting to kill Ron. Hermione's face, surprisingly, fell.

"Harry, I'd just like to know what you were thinking, that's all," she queried tentatively, raising her eyes to meet his embarrassed gaze.

"I don't know," he answered, knowing that he wasn't completely honest, "You're the only constant thing in my life, besides Ron, but I can't kiss him, now, can I?" he joked, and positively glowed when she laughed back. The tinkling sound filled him with sick, sappy, glee, but he found he cared very little.

"What are you trying to say, eh?" she said, one eyebrow raised challengingly.

"Nothing, Hermione," he said, settling a friendly arm around her and feeling slightly drowsy himself.

He heard a blood-curdling scream somewhere in the distance, and a persistent ache on his forehead. It was dull and throbbing, and his vision blurred with the pain. To his horror, he looked down to see that he was walking on the pallid faces of dead men and women. There was a sickening crack as he stepped on the neck of a little blond boy, whose physical build was no more than that of a five year old. He felt nauseous, but held it back, clutching his stomach and continuing to walk, but treading softer. It wasn't that hard, as he'd done it many times in similar (though not exactly the same) circumstance.

The woman stopped screaming, and just as soon, there was a hungry wailing, slightly quieter. A man yelled, and then there was a flash of green on the horizon. Harry stopped altogether, feeling a slight lurch in the bottom of his stomach. But as he were propelled by something other than sympathy, something crucial to him and only him, he began walking again. He persisted until he met a stream in the way. A stream which he had seen somewhere, but couldn't recognize it as that from his previous dreams, as the Sleeping Draught had formerly archived the information. The stream was red, flowing quickly and carrying remnants of flesh and sinew. He saw the stones on the bottom, occasionally checkered with an eyeball or a fragment of bone. He felt even more sick, if it were at all humanly possible, and willed himself awake.

When he opened his tear-crusted eyes, he saw Hermione's anxious face hovering over him.

"Don't worry," Harry said, mustering a slight grin. It (unfortunately) was not remotely close to the more gruesome of his dreams, and had in fact been one of the better ones. "I ran out of that Sleeping Potion. I'm sure Pomfrey'll owl it to me tomorrow," he explained, preparing for the lecture that Hermione was obviously going to give him on his irresponsibility. One which never came.

"How could you not tell us you were still taking a Sleeping Potion...and for so long?" she asked incredulously.

"Well--" he began, abruptly being cut off.

"Do you know what taking that stuff regularly can do to someone?" she asked. He shook his head, honestly bewildered.

"It's lethal, Harry! The aged herbs in that potion repress the desires in you mind, and with no warning at all, all of them can unleash on your conscious doings! A person can be going through all their bad nightmares as if they were reality, and consciously happening! And for you--that's _really_ dangerous!"

"Dumbledore recommended it, Hermione, and Pomfrey gave me the instructions herself, I doubt it could really do that," he said.

To his great surprise, Hermione smacked him upside the head.

"Harry! Think about it!" she yelled impatiently, "Their both willing to risk this because they think you're strong enough in Occlumency to be able to fight it all off if it ever happens!" Harry thought about it, by her will, trying to disregard her attack to his pride; if he really had gotten any better in controlling his mind to take on all of Voldemort's bad memories and future torture plans. Obviously, he decided not. Yes, he had gotten better, but it seemed to him that his dreams--next to dementors--had mounted to be his biggest fear in these days. 

"Neither of them have seen you talking in your sleep, or screaming in agony," she said emotionally, "how in the world would they know anyway if you could fight it off or not!" And Harry suddenly felt as angry as she sounded. "Now I'm not saying your not a good Legilimens, but you _are_ in pain, and I frankly think they're idiots for putting you in it, for however brief a time!" Hermione finished, raging.

"But what else could they do, Hermione? I was already experiencing my dreams consciously, and it had gotten so bad that it interfered with my Occlumency studies. They were just trying to put it off until I _could_ fight it," he reasoned.

"I suppose so." But she didn't sound it.

For the remainder of the trip, Hermione made her best effort to stay awake with Harry, catching up on all the details about classes and all his late light meanderings that she had missed in their awkward phase. Harry also felt much better, and talked to her like they were first years again, attributing all his former hesitancy as a side-effect of the Potion.

Alastor Moody greeted them when they'd reached Grimmauld Place, jumping out of a dark corner and nearly scaring all three out of their wits. He gave Neville a piece of paper and commanded him to memorize quickly, and both Harry and Hermione watched the familiar routine. At first, Neville was shivering, too petrified to even move and stared dumbly at an annoyed Moody, but at some encouragement from Hermione, he looked hesitantly down at the paper. He thought about the place and Number Twelve squeezed through in a manner that, seemed to Harry, was never unsurprising no matter how many times he saw it. Moody went up to the knocker and tapped with his wand.

A haggard looking face appeared when the door clacked and tittered open a minute later, and it filled with a large smile when Harry came into sight. Molly gave him a long, tender hug, with his arms also helplessly tight about her now frail form. Though they were not physically related, Harry felt that he was in the arms of a loving mother, who albeit not Lily, was the nearest thing he would have wished for. He returned her kiss on his forehead, and extricated himself from her as she moved to hug Hermione, and then a little later, even Neville.

"Ah, Longbottom, is it?" she said, "I knew yer parents when they were your age. Frank was in nearly all his classes with Charlie, and they were almost inseperable in those days, if I recall correctly." Molly started leading them further into the eerie house.

"Really?" Neville asked in blatant disbelief, his eyes glimmering suspiciously in the dim light.

"Mm-hmm," she said, "Now all of you, quiet for a bit until we get to the kitchens, eh? Need to fatten you up, dunno what Dumbledore's been feeding you up there," she said a little jokingly. They did not talk until they reached the kitchens, where a few members of the Orders were bustling around, fixing themselves a lunch.

"The meeting ran late yesterday, so a lot of us had to sleep over," she explained, "What to drink?" she inquired, sticking a sandwich under each of their noses. Without waiting for an answer, she summoned three matching glasses of water. "Never mind," she told them, "Kids are never hydrated enough these days." All this time, she was staring particularly at Hermione, who was looking slight uncomfortable under the unexpected scrutiny. Neville hungrily devoured sandwich, having had nothing but Ernie's bad Cooking for the past four meals. His cooking charms were unsurprisingly renowned more for their defensive properties than any distinctive taste. 

"Neville!" boomed a cheery voice suddenly, and Neville jumped a foot in the air. Arthur came over to Neville and took his hand in a crushing grip with both of his, then hugged both Harry and Hermione absently. "I knew your mother, great woman she was, and Frank and Charlie were really good friends at Hogwarts too," he said, repeating Molly's observation, "Come on, I'll introduce you! He'll be home shortly."

When the two had exited, Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, nearly as surprised as the one on Neville's flustered face.

"Now tell me, you two, how're my rowdy children doing up there in that school of yours? I know you're making sure Ron behaves, Hermione, but I'm not quite sure I'm too pleased with Harry letting Ginny run amok however she pleases." Molly gave a suggestive grin and Harry crinkled his nose at the almost incestuous note in the accusation. Hermione began on her endless complaining to Molly of all the petty grievances she had of Ron's behaviour, and quickly their talk turned somewhat girly. Harry finished his sandwich and rushed out, not particularly interested, and went in search of any of the members that he knew.

"Why hello Harry," said the sandy-haired fellow, who had been curled up on a corner of the house elf room (as it was called).

"Hi," said Harry, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Last night being a full moon and all." Remus frowned sullenly.

"Don't remind me." There were still traces of gold in his eyes, and gruesome teeth marks right above his left wrist. Harry smiled consolingly.

"Sorry," he said again. He stuck out a hand to help him up and then Remus enveloped him in a fatherly embrace in greeting.

"How're you holding up?" he asked, eying Harry plaintively. Harry knew he was referring to Sirius, who had been even closer to him than himself.

"Better. You?"

"Not too good. Some of his old school friends--Slytherins came up to me at Diagon Alley and expressed their condolences yesterday," he met Harry's gaze unsmilingly, "I almost killed them. Unfortunately, I was with Arthur at the time, so the poor blokes didn't quite get the recognition they deserved." Lupin gave an almost mischievous smile that proved to Harry how much of a Marauder Lupin really was, and how much of it he had regretted to see.

"Speaking of Slytherins, Malfoy and his gang are really strange these days."

"How so?" Lupin inquired, yawning as they stumbled down the halls aimlessly.

"Well, they stay out of my way mostly, and...well, that's all. It's quite out of character, to say the least."

"I dunno what it is, but I'll bet you its some interference from Lucius, and he doesn't exactly give _all_ of his own orders."

"Suppose you're right."

"_Filth, Scum, Unworthy freaks, get out of my house..."_ they heard in the distance. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry..." Harry recognized Neville's faint voice.

"Seems Longbottom's discovered Mrs. Black," Lupin said, grinning ruefully. "Where's Hermione?" he turned to Harry.

"She and Mrs. Weasley are talking," Harry suddenly remembered something, "Remus, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Maybe..." he said tentatively, "What is it?"

"Why are we here?" Lupin gave him a guarded look.

"It's Dumbledore's intention to initiate the three of you into the Order. Personally, I'm against it still, but he's somehow got even Molly convinced, so I have no choice but to go along with it."

"But I though Underage Wizards weren't permitted..."

"Well," he said perplexedly, "You three _would_ be the first."

"And what about the Statute of Secrecy?"

"Dumbledore's taken care of that for now. Or will in a few weeks. But for now, you'll just be learning Apparation and 'Elementary Wand Safety', which Moody takes very seriously and draws out as much as he can, so you'll have no worries in that department."

"Err...why did Hermione have to come along?" 

"All went with that Prophecy nonsense. I was never much of a Divination person myself. I took the class at Hogwarts, and got so tired of Trelawney's predicting "_Dark Times Ahead_" for me that I could've just strangled her. "Oh," Lupin said, "How's it going with dear Snivellus? Is he harrassing you any?"

Harry was unsure of the answer to that question. Was he being _harrassed _exactly?

"Well--maybe," he began. Lupin raised his eyebrows, cocking his head slightly, "I guess we reached sort of an understanding after the Pensieve incident, but he's still being as nasty as ever, yeah," he explained.

"That's good then." Lupin nodded. They walked unknowingly into the room where Molly and Hermione were still talking.

"Hello," Hermione said, looking up at Remus. Molly took in his appearance.

"You're looking hungry, Lupin," she commented, "Care for some lunch?"

"Of course!" Remus agreed, his face taking on a childish expression that was oddly out of place on his serious face. 

Remus and Molly began conversing about improvements with the Goblin Alliance and Harry and Hermione retreated upstairs to her bedroom to talk--or more like exchange the findings of their investigation.

When Harry had told her what he'd known, Hermione said, "I tried to ask Molly why I was here, but she just got all weird and sentimental. You'd think I was going to die or something."

Harry began to reply that indeed, she was not, but was suddenly filled with foreboding. Remus had once said that there were unimaginable dangers that went along with being in the Order, and he suddenly became aware of the fact that they could all very well die. Hermione was obviously thinking along the same lines as she looked at him darkly.

"Don't say things like that," Harry said, stammering unconsciously, the full reality of his situation fell heavily upon him like an iron anvil. And then Hermione'd pulled him wordlessly into a hug that neither reassured nor comforted him. It was more like a farewell, a last wish, and both of them were immediately scared, and somewhat hoping that they could go back to safe old Hogwarts again, and be innocent, underage witch and wizard.


	7. Apparation and Initiation

A/N: I think J.K. Rowling herself has made a boo-boo in her book. According to HPL, the whereabouts of the Marauder's Map are supposedly unknown, but mysteriously enough, Harry has it in his own precious hands in the OOtP, when he's watching the DA kids get back to their towers safely. Unfortunately, I can't post/e-mail HPL, so for now, the fic will just have to remain the way it is. If anyone has a solution to this mystery (which has been rattling my brains), please stick it in a review or e-mail me, if it's not too much trouble? Thanks.

And I'm sorry chapters are shorter these days. There just...isn't much to say. And its not really like I can update any faster? I _do _have a sort of master plot I'm following, so if what needs to be said gets said, then prolonging the chapter will just give me more details that I need to possibly refer back to so that I don't contradict myself. Eh...I know, who cares anyway, right? Long as it sounds right. I take fanfiction entirely too seriously, I think I need a bathroom break. Thanks **pen and paper action**, and the other regulars (whom I've mentioned in previous chappies) especially, as well as the others who reviewed for...erm...reviewing! Forty. A landmark for me--pathetic, you say? Yes, indeed, I am perfectly aware.

* * *

Harry looked in the mirror, and then round at Hermione standing on a stool next to him, staring at her own reflection. Molly was murmuring under her breath, fixing the collar of his robe, and fumbling with the creased hood of the traditional red cloaks of the Order. Hermione surveyed her profile sideways, pressing the velvety fabric on her stomach, then smoothing it. 

"Stop it, Hermione, you aren't fat," said Mrs. Weasley a little sternly. She smiled a little at his appearance, apparently satisfied, when Harry moved to get off the stool and accidentally stepped on the cloak--which they had all falsely assumed had been magical adjusted to fit him.

"Damn it!" Molly swore angrily at the torn cloak, and Harry surveyed her, surprised. Hermione gasped audibly. Molly, though, did her best to pretend nothing had happened.

"Accio Sewing Kit," she gestured, and the small brass box came zooming to her. She flicked her wand in an odd pattern, and the hem began mending itself. There was a call, which sounded oddly like Dumbledore, coming from a few rooms down. 

"Coming Albus," she replied, bustling around. "When you both are ready, go to the Hall, Neville is already waiting down there with his grandmother."

The initiation was a solemn affair. First up was Neville, who was not at all intimidated, but bore the air of a brave and courageous knight out to battle. His grandmother, in her flamboyant hat and prudent red cotton dress, sniffled through tears that melted her magically made face.

"...do you promise to uphold all codes of honour as dictated by the Knighthood of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes," Neville replied, with no trace of remorse.

"Do you promise to put the task designated to you by the Order of the Phoenix first and foremost before even your own life and those of your beloved?"

"Yes."

"And do you accept your task as Rejected, to assist Harry Potter in the fulfillment of The Prophecy, though it may mean death?" said the dark-haired man dubbing them. Neville looked a little surprised at this, but did not think much before accepting the task unflinchingly. Harry was filled with immense guilt. 

His went much the same way, except for the end bit.

"Do you," the man said to him instead, "Accept your responsibility to slay the Dark Lord Voldemort or die yourself if the attempt is unsuccessful?"

Harry hesitated. "Y-YES," he replied firmly in a moment. The full weight of it seemed only to settle now that it was so formally pronounced, and it was all the more intimidating that way. Thus far all he felt for Voldemort had been vengeance and hatred, but the absolute necessity of the end that was meant for him had established in him, a sort of dread as well.

Hermione was the last, and all of them in the Hall, nearly fifty people it looked (if not more) were looking forward to learning of her part in the Prophecy.

When she was announced "The Insurmountable Sacrifice," all of them gasped. Harry, having only a vague idea of the implications of Hermione's task, noticed that Molly had looked away, and a few ornery tears had escaped her eyes. He suddenly felt anger building up in him. He looked at Dumbledore accusingly, only to see him communicating a stern expression. Then he understood. He surely would not have let Hermione come if he had known the part she would be playing, and Dumbledore had merely anticipated it.

"No!" Harry interrupted, "She most certainly will not!" Many eyes turned to him in shock, some in dread as he had interrupted an almost sacred rite. He caught Hermione's carefully censored glare, and returned it, pleading for her to support him.

To his horror, Hermione replied, "Yes. I will accept my duties," in a small, yet somehow courageous voice.

"No!" Harry yelled outright. Dumbledore silenced him suddenly, banishing him by wand back to his seat. The anger flashed in his serene eyes, and Harry glared right back. He would not allow yet another person he loved immensely to be taken from him.

He could not talk for the rest of the ceremony, owing to the charm Dumbledore had placed on him, but it was mostly boring anyway, as the most important part was over. After the initiation, they were all three sent to their respective rooms and a regularly scheduled meeting took place.

"Hermione," said Neville first, when they were back in Harry's room, "You shouldn't have agreed to that! There must be some other way, I'm sure of it. You wouldn't have to _die_--"

"Of course I would Neville, it's customary for one person to die in every Prophecy in order for it to be carried out perfectly. The other person has to be Voldemort. Or if Harry dies, then someone Voldemort is close to will die," she answered calmly, taking up the air of a simple informant yet again. "Or it maybe," she went on, "That I and Voldemort's Sacrifice may both have to die for the whole affair to happen properly, but it varies with the type of Prophecy." It seemed to Harry that Hermione had accepted everything like some undeniable fate, yet Harry could hardly even cope with the notion of it.

"Hermione, don't be stupid. I'd rather let Voldemort defeat me, there can't be anyone he cares enough for to _sacrifice_," he said, matching her serenity, though hers was in earnest, where Harry felt everything but calm.

"You'll die!" Neville pointed out unnecessarily.

"Of course I will," Harry ascertained, "One of us has to."

"VOLDEMORT has to," Hermione said, and Neville unconsciously started at the name.

"No, Hermione," he said to her, "If he dies, you die, and there are far too many people that care about you for me to just ask you to die for me."

"You're not _asking me to_! How absurd!" she said back sharply. Neville's fearful eyes darted back and forth from Hermione to Harry as he followed the argument. 

"But it's all become clear now, and you see that. I can't possibly defeat Voldemort, and the Prophecy only says that one of us has to die. And Dumbledore will defeat Voldemort eventually because he's obviously more powerful!"

"Harry, don't be such a moron! I never thought you were so far drowned in guilt that you aren't even willing to make attempt!"

"NOT IF IT MEANS THE DEATH OF THE ONE PERSON IN THE WORLD I LOVE MOST!" he burst out, his resolve breaking. Hermione's jaw dropped and Harry quickly turned away and began pacing the length of the room.

"I'll just leave you two alone then," Neville said, and the door clicked shut quietly behind him. Neither of them took any notice.

"What do you mean?" Hermione said finally, fiddling with a loose thread of the quilt on his bed where she was sitting.

"Look," he said angrily, sitting down next to her and running a frustrated arm down his neck as he looked up at the ceiling for reassurance. "I'm not going to fool around any longer with this because there would be no point in it." 

"No there wouldn't," Hermione urged, glancing up to meet his green eyes.

"I realize that I love you very much. Not that I like the idea very much, to be in love with my best friend's girl--It all sounds like something Aunt Pet would watch on television, but I really can't help it," he explained. He noted that Hermione's face was suddenly filled with anger.

"You make it sound like a curse!"

"It is! Obviously because you can never love me back." Harry regarded her, for even the faintest hint of disproof of the statement he had just uttered.

"I do love you back. I've had a huge crush on you since back in first year, but I always put it to the back of my mind. Everyone just expected me to get with Ron, so I just went along with it. He's not bad at all, but if I had thought I had any hope of--" she stopped, giving him a giant smile, "Oh dear, It really does sound like Muggle TV." But Harry's mood wasn't at all ameliorated any.

"Oh hell, you can say whatever you want now that I've made a complete fool of myself, It would make Ron really jealous if you went back to school with me, and then he'll just fall at your feet again like always. That's it isn't it?" he retorted. Hermione looked faintly insulted.

"What do you think I'm making all this up because I want Ron to--why do you think I broke up with him in the first place?" She accused. Harry looked at his hands, having no logical reply to it, but still unwilling to believe that after all his self-beration, she had somehow loved him all along, and still he was the one at fault because he didn't talk to her about it sooner, nor pay her the attention she deserved.

"I dunno, but I find it difficult to believe that you can act all lovey-dovey with Ron and still have been madly in love with me somehow. I don't know what you want Hermione, but if your intentions are to convince me that I shouldn't keep you from dying, I can't think how you'd manage it by confessing your long-lost crush on me. Try a different approach, won't you?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry glowered back at her earnestly. For a brief moment, neither of them said anything, but suddenly Hermione stood up.

"You know, Harry, I reckon Rita Skeeter's right 'bout you," she fumed, "You're actually starting to enjoy wallowing in misery!" 

The door slammed like a thunderclap and resounded heavily in Harry's ears as he sat on his bed contemplating Hermione's accusation.

The next morning, although, she was in enormously better spirits. She bounded into Harry's room, opening the curtains to let the blinding light stream in.

"Wake up, Harry!" she trilled, kissing him on the cheek in an odd gesture. Harry's hands shot up to shade himself from the sunlight, and he groaned.

"Why're you all happy alla sudden?" he moaned through a yawn.

"We're _finally_ learning how to Apparate! Dumbledore's got us a special temporary permit to do magic for the Order," she rambled, sitting on his bed and bouncing annoyingly on it.

Harry turned to his side, pulling his pillow so that it covered both his ears, why did Hermione have to be so enthusiastic about _learning_ anyway? "Whatever, I need more sleep," he said, pulling the sheets tighter about him, and beginning to drowse off again. He'd had the pool dream, and hadn't gotten to sleep until only an hour before. Hermione, though, had other plans. She cheerfully brandished her wand and "Wingardium Leviosa"-d him out of bed and onto the hard floor of the bathroom.

"Don't be silly!" she said, "A man named Cherian Crompton is teaching us. He does official Ministry issued lessons! Molly wants us down for breakfast in ten minutes."

Harry sighed as he heard the door close behind Hermione and began to brush his teeth. "That girl really is crazy," his mirror suggested, with a mouth full of toothpaste. Harry nodded in agreement as he bent over the basin and turned on the tap.

They had about ten pancakes each for breakfast and went to the Greenhouse for their lessons. Their teacher was a short, plump man (Harry'd been scolded for calling him fat), who breathed heavily and sweated all the time. His face was ruddy, but he was very good-natured and patient with the both of them. 

He first used a spell to completely disapparate them so that they floated like essence in the air. It was really odd, and they felt as if they were bound by the man's magic to keep from Apparating in odd corners of the world in seperate pieces.

"Now, look to your left and right. Remember, you're all going to concentrate on moving to the spot where the person next to you is. Mr. Longbottom to where Mr. Potter is, and vice-versa, and Miss Granger in between Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom when their both finished. Is that clear?" They all nodded.

Harry and Neville first switched places, but apparently, they were wearing each other's feet. Harry got it right about his third turn, but Neville still left body parts behind so that Harry often had three hands and a foot. Hermione, of course, got it perfectly the first time.

And then Crompton taught them the spell to be used for Disapparation.

"But the whole point of Apparation is to do it wandlessly, so don't start to rely too much on this spell," he warned.

When they had finally gotten even Neville to Apparate properly a step or two, it was not surprisingly, noontime.

"The key to Apparation is practice," Crompton said with great effort, before dismissing them, "So practice, practice, practice! You only have a week and a half until you have to return to Hogwarts. And you can't Apparate or Disapparate there, you know." Hermione looked smugly at Neville and Harry in turn. "Tomorrow, come back at nine, and we'll work on Disapparating." 

"Thanks," Hermione said enthusiastically as they exited. Harry and Neville nodded uncertainly.

"You're all welcome," Crompton said, smiling and waddling off in the opposite direction of their rooms.

They spent the rest of the day doing exactly what Crompton suggested, and Hermione insisted they do, practice. When it was time for them to go down to lunch, Harry (confident in his abilities) began disapparating in the same manner as they'd done all day and tried to go down the stairs. Suddenly, though, there's was a painful lurch in his stomach as he blacked out, right before he could propel his essence down to the table, he was tugged by an unseen force out miles away. 

And as he hit a sandy desert floor with the nearest civilization no less than three thousand miles away and his wand safely back on another continent, Harry knew nothing but the searing pain in his scar, and the ominous wetness behind his ears.


	8. The Eternal Man

A/N: Ok. I have three and a half things to say.

First: This is totally (almost) a filler chapter, so nothing significant happens but character development. And Ron is really being neglected (because I hate him), so I think he's going to get this chapter to sort of balance things out.

Second: **Silverleaf**--First of all, I thank you for reviewing. And for longishness of it (which made me feel good that people would actually take time over this stupid thing instead of just flaming it). You said-as well as a whole lot of you-that my writing was at first like JKR's, and I had great potential blahblah, and then it just sucked. Ok, so I'm not Rowling-and I _really don't want to be_. I, too, read fanfiction because it serves as a sort of substitute for the actual Harry Potter Books, which none of us can honestly say we've had enough of, but if my sole purpose is to write like J. K. Rowling, then everyone would blame my fic for being redundant and plagiaristic. I swear, dere's no pleasing you people, so I'll just be content w/what I have, shall I? And I don't recall ever saying that Lily and James were _not_ Head Boy and Girl, _or _that Severus was extra sticky sugarplums. If you chose to misconstrue it that way, then go ahead, but the story is about Harry and co., so I don't really care.

Oh, go check out **All the things you are **(pretty please) for some L/J/MWWP, plleeeeezz??

Er...what else?

Oh yes, the third: **Behold the Void**--Oh, you really are too smart for me. I didn't really intend for the Prophecy to come off Eddings-esque, but, well, I really respect the guy, so my subconscious must've slipped it in. (Yeah, just blame it all on me say the voices in my head) I have to say though that until the middle of _Sorceress of Darshiva_, I'd wanted Ce'Nedra to die because I thought it would be more powerful that way, and everyone was acting all like they just recently realized her worth and all, so don't get your hopes up, Hermione really may be the actual Sacrifice *winks*. And for the amount of Eddings references in here, owing to the fact that I just finished The Mallorean waiting for the fifth book to come out, this may as well be a crossover. I hope you caught that bit in the dream about the woman and the baby which was actually intentional--like in _Demon Lord of Karanda_. ^.^ Yes, I know, how cheesy do I get? Just be glad I don't stick Raistlin here (and I'm supposing you read Dragonlance, or atleast Forgotten Realms?). As for my grammatical errors, I'm just concentrating on finishing the fic as fast as I can before I lost interest, but never fear coz I'll probably fix it all in the end. If it really bothers you though, you can just...fix them in your head. Or flame me! Right then. 

#3.5: Special thanks to **Mella deRanged**, and **Jack**, and also **pen-paper-action** who put my fave count at 15, more than twice what it was before. And the others too, thanks for reviewing. On with the fic. 

* * *

"Ronald Weasley, why didn't you tell me about this?" his sister squealed. A few first year Gryffindor's turned to look at them. 

"W-what?" Ron stuttered, his ears turning slightly pink as he struggled to keep his eyes on the cold eggs on his fork. 

She thrust the letter which a barn owl had delivered to them under his nose.

_Hello darlings,_

_I hope you two are doing well at school, and will continue to do so for the next few weeks while your friends stay with me back Home. In case this letter is intercepted, I won't say much but that all three of them are doing fine. They are currently doing schooling of their own, and they will be back to tell you the rest (or as much as they can) I'm not really sure if Dumbledore wants news to be public yet. I've sent you some of my fudge for you, Gin, in case those cramps get really bad, don't eat it all at once _(Ron grimaced slightly at this) _And you, Ron, don't eat any of it either! Fred and George have told me about their news, and we're planning the date sometime next year. We still haven't heard anything from You-Know-Whom, please let me know (not your father) if you happen to do so. Bill and Charlie are here with us, so if you're going to owl, you know where to find them. Love you,  
Be good,  
-Mum._

Ginny was looking expectantly at him, an eyebrow arched.

"Sorry," Ron replied sourly, turning to look up at the cloudy sky. "Do you think we should postpone Quidditch practice? Or maybe send Hedwig to ask Harry?" he said, hoping that Ginny would take the bait to change the subject.

"Ron!" Ginny cried, and Ron's face fell, "You _should_ have told me! I mean you really expected me to believe that they were off in N.E.W.T level camp? In the middle of school? And _Neville_ too?" She was frowning, and apparently expecting Ron to apologize or something of the sort.

"Oh, sod off, Ginny, it was the only thing I could think of!" said Ron, "Hermione said Harry told her not to tell you since you'd worry. She probably wouldn't have told me if Dumbledore hadn't asked me!"

"So what am I now some kind of _child_ everyone's hoping to protect?"

Ron frowned. "If you didn't act so much like one,"

"Me?!"

"Shut up you two," said Luna, who had been quietly chewing a particularly unruly piece of bacon in the seat next to them. They both turned and glanced at her, a bit incredulously. Since their collective adventure the end of the year before, it had seemed she had permanently attached themselves to their group. And here she was, a Ravenclaw, sitting at the Gryffindor table.

"Who asked you anyway?" Ron muttered, as he and Ginny silently finished the rest of their breakfast.

As much as he had hated to admit it, he felt that the inseperable trio of himself, Harry and Hermione had drifted apart greatly. And now, stupid Neville had taken his place. He resented that his sister had also become somewhat of best friends with Luna Lovegood, forcing her into their company, when he had rather intended that she should be more intimate with Hermione, and even Harry--but in an entirely different fashion. It was not at all working out. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had become Ginny, Ron and Luna. It was a completely aversive thought to Ron. 

Being the last male child of the Weasley family, and having Ginny a little more on the timorous side, Ron had really been getting used to things being done his way as a sort of compensation for accepting hand-me-downs and cheap presents. And really, this was very frustrating. Next thing he knew, he was going to lose Hermione to someone like Colin Creevey. He smiled unconsciously at the thought, feeling slightly better thinking of his almost-perfect girlfriend. She never let him down. 

"The rain's not stopping anytime soon, so I'm going to tell the Roy, Barnes, and the girls we'll make it longer Monday case they have anything to do," Ginny said.

"Whatever. I have homework." Ron said, carelessly throwing down his fork and stumbling off to the Gryffindor Commons. Luna and Ginny exchanged an exasperated look. The used silverware disappeared with a crackling noise.

"A game of Snap?" Ginny suggested.

"You always win," Luna complained, "how about chess?" Ginny scowled in response.

Ron was having a fun time, though, practicing an Imperturbable Charm on his trunk and having it bounce constantly off as if it were already cast. If only Hermione were here. Finally, he threw down his relatively new wand and disgruntled, went to the desk to owl her.

_Dearest Hermione,_

He began, but didn't know what else to say.

"_It's a beautiful day out,"_ glanced at the rain thundering down in sheets like Angel Falls. "_how's Harry?"_ When are you getting back, he wanted to ask, but she would just get off on another lecture. "_I can't say much because Mum is being all worried again, like Voldemort's just going to trace my owl, and come murder me under the Headmaster's eyes."_

Ron racked his brains, thinking of something boyfriend-ish to say. "I love you, I miss you, I remember you when I see Crookshanks." But he realized that all they had in common was Harry and homework. He only loved her because she was a wonderful person, and hadn't really a personal attachment to her, and missed her only when he couldn't get a certain charm or potion right. And Crookshanks had hated him anyway since the incident with Scabbers. Or Wormtail, not that it mattered much anyhow, but the stupid fat cat still held the grudge.

So what did he say to Hermione? Write my potions essay for me? Tell me how to cast a proper Imperturbable Charm? He felt guilty at the selfishness of his thoughts, but also felt as if she would be expecting that of him. Their relationship was so predictable. He knew her so well, and she him, and they always argued the same exact way, broke up, then got back together. There was no real romance, or seduction, or adventure. Ron sighed. He and Hermione were so _boring_ together...

He began writing. It was wrong to lead Hermione on, and if his mother had taught him anything right, it was to be honest. It would hurt her feelings, devastate her, surely, but it had to be done. 'Course, he thought, she was a great woman and all, but Hermione wasn't really...his type...he was thinking more that hot 6th year Hufflepuff, Rinoa Lin with the blonde hair and those huge...

His quill suddenly paused above the parchment as he stopped to think of Rinoa. Then feeling slightly sickened, he started furiously scribbling again.

_... I'm sure you'll agree when you've gotten over the initial shock of my proposal, as its usually you who suggest we break up, but it really is all for the best. I hope you find someone who doesn't argue as much, but be sure to introduce us so I'll approve. I don't mean get back with that Viktor Krum bloke (for goodness sakes he can't even get your name right), but try to aim higher, eh?   
Love you,  
Ron._

He looked over the hurriedly written letter, and corrected a few spelling mistakes he'd overlooked and sealed it and went up to the Owlery to find Hedwig. She hooted when he'd said to give it to Hermione, then flew out of the open Window into the pounding rain.

But Hermione never got it.

The inhabitants of Twelve Grimmauld Place were making hastened preparations to evacuate. The Dark Lord had somehow managed to oust Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm and kidnap Harry Potter. At the moment, his whereabouts were unknown, but someone had the common sense to have Trace him with a charm (not finding him, for he was out of range), but fortunately discovering nearly ten giants on their way to ambush them.

"I will go personally up to inform Fudge, tell him not to panic. Arthur, please floo to Hogwarts and let Minerva know that I probably won't be at Dinner. Moody, I leave the rest to your hands," Dumbledore said, his blue cloak billowing behind him and his dull footsteps echoing off to the distance.

"Alright," Moody began, and Arthur struggled with his cloak, "You get in the regular duck formation, as soon as you take-off, go as high up as possible," his continued explaining their plans, what to do in case the Giants met them unexpectedly, how to perform Tracing Charms without being Traced themselves.

Hermione and Neville stood forgotten to a side, her hands firmly holding his shaking arms.

"Neville, I want you to listen to me, calm down, ok?" Hermione commanded. He nodded. 

"We will all be fine before its all over. Go make like your're getting Harry's Firebolt, use the Kitchen fireplace, tell Ron we're okay, then, meet me in the entryway after the Order folks are out."

"But Hermione," he interrupted, "You are Order folk, Moody will probably want you toward the front seeing as how you and me were with Harry last."

Hermione crinkled her brows a minute, seemingly deep in thought. "I've never heard of any magic to overthrow a Fidelius Charm," she admitted finally.

"Hermione," Neville replied, their roles suddenly reversed. "This isn't the time. Molly will take care of Ron and the others. We have to concentrate first on getting out of here. Then to find Harry, before..." he trailed off, unsure of how she'd take it.

"You're right," she said, "_Accio_ Firebolt." And the red broomstick came zooming towards them. Hermione nearly cried at the many times she'd seen Harry doing it before Quidditch practice or an unscheduled rendezvous. Neville embraced her comfortingly, and she was surprised at the irony of things. Neville was supposed to be the one needing comfort, and here he was, strong as even the bravest Gryffindors of the Order of the Phoenix. 

"Thank you," she sniffed, as they began walking, responding to Moody's summons to join him in the front of the duck position.

They moved as six rows of five people each. There three on one side and three on the other, Moody at the front, with two rear guards--Emmaline Vance and Dedalus Diggle who were renowned for their dueling skills. A burly, intimidating looking man was behind Moony, and on either side of him were Hermione (on the left) and Neville (to the right). Many members whom Hermione was familiar with were missing, including Tonks (who was at Hogwarts) and Molly, whom she supposed was undercover somewhere like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. The duck position, it turned out, looked like giant upside down V. Like migratory ducks--which she supposed was the logic of the name.

They flew up so high so fast that their ears popped collectively, or so Neville presumed. Behind them, Cherian Crompton was struggling to breathe, but Moody did nothing to even acknowledge his glaring discomfort. It began getting colder and colder, and the ground below them was almost invisible below the fast moving clouds. Neville caught his breath and closed his eyes, wavering slightly on his broomstick. The two people beside him, a mousy woman and the giant man both turned to look fleetingly at him, and Hermione mouthed "What's wrong?", but Neville shook his head, keeping his eyes firmly between the two heads in front. Cherian's breaths were shallower and shallower, and it took all of the evilness and bad will in his heart mustered together for him to keep from turning and helping his apparation teacher. Not that he would know how anyway...

When Cherian's breathing stopped altogether, almost an hour later, and he turned a sharp ninety-degree angle to plummet downwards on his broom, Neville clenched his hands tightly on his own broomstick till his knuckles turned white and he had to strain to keep looking dead ahead through the tears that blurred his vision. Hermione, on the other hand, disregarding Moody's warnings, pointed her wand back to him and straightened his broomstick's course toward a nearby lighthouse.

Moody cast a Sonorus spell on himself when he'd spotted the awry form of the man upon his broomstick off toward the lighthouse below.

"Whoever that was!" he yelled forebodingly, "You're going to get one hell of a beatin when we're down!" Neville noticed the slightly smug expression on Hermione's face as she straightened on her broom and stuffed her wand back in her pocket, her chin up proudly.

It turned out that Moody, though he'd said they would only be flying for an hour and a half to an Unplottable Island right off the coast, ended up deliberately missing it.

"There it is, down there!" Lupin had shouted, when they'd seen it, but suddenly, Moody had shot a Silencing Charm at him. So it was that they flew for nearly a day, right along the coast until they all sunk down, dead exhausted and even more hungry, on the rocky beach and then were rushed straight into a dank, cramped cave. Moody raised his non-wand hand (a signal for light) and they all thankfully lit their wands. Many of them sitting down on stalagmites, or even on the bare floor. 

"Now," Moody began, shooting a slightly apologetic look to all of them, resting his one eye a bit longer on the still Silenced Remus, "I've managed to set off the thestrals' trail about a day. They were the ones following us, in case none of you saw. Close as a mile from us at one point. And they can hear pretty well too," he said sheepishly, waving his wand at Remus. "We'll rest here for about four hours, get a bite to eat. Twill have to be fish less you can find bigger game, but don't leave the cave till I give the say-so. We're right close to Dublin, so after ye eat, start dispersing two by two. I want to see the young girl 'fore she goes off someplace." There was a hard glint in his eyes as Hermione came forth, Neville standing guard close behind, and the others began chattering amongst themselves. 

"I didn't ask for you boy," Moody snapped, when both his swivelling and smaller eyeballs settled on him. Neville went off to find his Ex-Defense Against The Dark teacher, hearing faint strains of "_What if he'd been found?! He'd know our exact plans down to the last bloody detail!"_

* * *

As Hedwig was returning to Ron the next night, still with the letter, Harry Potter was stumbling aimlessly around, thirsty and nearly collapsing of hunger, the effects of the dry desert atmosphere wearing upon his mere will to live any longer. Though he could smell the salty, balminess of the ocean, he saw nothing. But still he walked on in hopes of finding help, as if compelled, yet thoroughly hopeless. 

His instincts though, proved to be true. Or would have if he'd known that he was on an Unplottable island off the coast of Alaska, much like the one back closer to his home where Moody had planned to hide the Order, standing right on the beach, smack in the middle of a flawless illusion. And watching him through an invisible turret window was an old man, wrinkly enough that his skin was falling off of him, but a happy smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The man wore mismatched boots and a short and long sock on both feet, and was comfortably swathed in an oversized and tacky yellow robe. 

"So here is our next Child of Light," he said, turning away and nearly tripping over the hem of his clothing as he rushed down the stairs to get to Harry before the enchantment wore off. 


	9. The Expendable Chapter

A/N:_** PLEASE READ!!!**_ This whole chapter is a sort of barefaced, clear-cut crossover between Harry Potter and the David Eddings books. Some of the nuances of his world may not be exactly represented, because I only got to finish up until the end of the Mallorean before _Order of the Phoenix_ came out. And as for the people who _don't_ read Eddings I realize its really unfair to stick something in here that you're totally unfamiliar with, so I'll try to make it sort of...all-encompassing, so that it may not be so vague/confusing. Please don't NOT read this author's note then flame me, as its the sort of thing that has me lost in depression back to that too common, sulking teenager on crack (and can't quit) state. 

The gist of it is that Harry can sort of do wandless magic now (or can be able to when its all over--with certain setbacks), and he is also sort of Animagi...I guess...with the same setbacks. I always felt that skill was mismatched in the HP vs. LV area, and ALL of the confrontations in the books were pure luck-based (even though she tried to undo that perception in the fifth book a little), so this should take care of that particular problem I have with her manner and philosophy.

As is routine, I shall now thank my regular reviewers, as well as **Facade** especially, for their kindnesses bestowed upon me. To answer **Mella deRanged**'s question (which made me smile): Er...no, she's find a more artful way to it, I guess.^_^. The others who continue to read--May good tidings rain upon you. Thanks. :D. On with the fic.

* * *

Harry's dry, itching eyes were too heavy to keep open any longer. His eyelids drooped as the hot winds of the desert directly blasted upon his face, and however much irrational, he regretted taking off his fragile glasses, which at least gave the illusion of protecting his eyes from the sands that crusted upon its lenses to completely dull his vision. Now wasn't any different in that he _still_ couldn't see, and his eyes really were unprotected either way. Harry wished devoutly, for about the millionth time that hour, that he had his wand, so he could perform the spell which Hermione taught him that Quidditch game back a few years ago. 

His frustration mounted by every step his took. He wished he could stop somewhere, and lie down to rest his body a bit, as well as his raging mind, but with the sand all looking so alike, any one spot he chose in which to rest seemed just as bleak, if not bleaker than another. If he were a muggle, he'd figured out just recently, he would have died long ago, from thirst, but he was not, regrettably enough, and he could feel the magic tingling within him through all his earthly hankerings, overpowering them as his sustenance. He thought sadly, he was to be stuck on this stupid desert forever. Walking on and on to the edge of the earth, falling off into the heavens, and still possibly walking, because of habit. Time was simply too constant, too enduring...simply unendurable in its omnipresence.

It had then been a completion of a full day since he had been landed in the place.

Harry began to curse madly, waving his hands and pitching his voice to match the screaming winds. He was aware though, of the light that was emanating from him, shooting off in varicoloured beams, as each distinct gesture he made changed his surroundings or turned them back again and the earth and sky rumbled dangerously around him.

He was perfectly aware that he was doing wandless magic, but he was stuck here, wasn't he? Who gave a Pettigrew's tail anyway how dangerous it supposedly was? He swore a little more as he heard the ground start to crackle apart behind him, intractably missing a short figure headed right for him in long, deliberate strides.

"All right!" The old man cried menacingly, loud beyond his look, "Stop destroying my island!" Harry was startled still, and actually had the decency to look a bit scared. He had been expecting Voldemort, or dementors, or something...well... a bit more threatening. His expression softened slightly as he regarded the figure of Belgarath The Sorcerer in front of him, but not quite registering it, as he didn't recognize him yet--having paid no attention to that second-year History of Magic lesson for he'd then been so busy planning a Polyjuice Potion.

Then the man lifted up his hand and muttered an unintelligible word. The entire desert, apart from mending itself of the crack and the thunderstorm that Harry inflicted it with, turned into a beautiful forest all about, and immediately in front of him was a beach. The beach whose scent he had unerringly smelled. It was only one time he had seen the ocean, when he'd gone along with the Dursleys to one of their trips as Mrs. Figg couldn't baby-sit, and it had not been very impressed then. It was somewhere in the Caribbean that time, and it was so crowded and littered, smelling more of sun cream and toxic waste than of the salt and the life in the sea that he was smelling now. But sadly enough, he had recognized the coasty taste of the air, its being one of the more memorable (and somewhat more happier) recollections of his childhood. 

"What are you looking at," the old man inquired, somewhat more sedate, obviously noting the subconscious nostalgia Harry had lapsed into.

"Erm..." Harry began, tearing his eyes away from that endless immensity of the crashing waves, "Sorry for asking, but why've you kidnapped me to this place?"

"I like you, boy," the man said, with a strong, unrecognizable accent spicing up his speech in a manner that Harry found very comforting. He almost regretted his word choice of 'kidnap', but smiled at the man's compliment.

"You can call me Wolf, if you'd like. All the past ones of your kind've done the same. But properly, my title is Belgarath, but no one cares about that anymore." His till then wise demeanor was now more melancholy. "Not that I can blame anybody, I haven't been off this island for nearly ten thousand years. I guess that would put my age at about twenty thousand, but I've said before, no one ever cares anymore. And maybe young ones are more blunt in this age."

"Wait, wait," Harry said, feeling Hermione would currently be scolding him for his dimwittedness, "You're the founder of Magic? Belgarath the Eternal Man?" Both of the old man's completely white eyebrows shot up in astonishment.

"They still call me that, eh?" he asked Harry excitedly. 

"Still--as opposed to when?" Harry said, a bit confused. How exactly was he supposed to regard a man who was old past divinity, revered past life, but was standing by him plain as grass, and acting the exact same way?

"Don't get cocky with me, boy," said Belgarath in an irritated tone that only succeeded in befuddling him further.

"Erm..." he said, "Are you really the Founder of Magic?"

Belgarath frowned. "No. No, I'm not in the least." He regarded Harry for a bit. "You look really off, how 'bout some food and water up at my Tower?" Harry's heart swelled. Food! And oh...water...

"Where?" he asked eagerly. Belgarath began leading him off silently, and Harry followed, putting all the burning questions to the back of his mind. 

"Poledra's around somewhere on the stupid planet, but I can't locate her, so we're going to have to make do with leftovers from Dinner. Is that alright?" Belgarath apologized, bustling around the room he had led Harry to, as Harry could, embarrassingly enough, only stand and gape in awe. But the old man seemed to be used to all the fame, and actually looked sort of pleased--as if he hadn't gotten the kind of attention in years. Millenia, Harry amended, as he sat down at the table in front of a huge turkey, its fat nearly melting off its bones, waiting to be eaten. 

And so they did. Harry's nearly ravenous eating seemed to please Belgarath more than a little, and much to Harry's nervousness, the man watched him quite intently throughout the whole affair.

"So," ventured Harry, gulping down his mouthful of the superbly prepared fowl, "Why am I here, then, sir?"

"Eh? What? Oh yes, you're here because you're the Child of Light." 

"What...does that mean?" Belgarath looked faintly rankled.

"You mean you're nearly seventeen and no one's told you about the Prophecy?"

"Well, they have," replied Harry, chewing his next bite slowly, "But erm, what do you have to do with it?"

"You see, I guide all the Children of the Light Spirit of the Universe," he replied simply. Harry shook his head, indicated a complete mystification. Belgarath thought, there was a lot of work to be done here.

"I believe one of the persons are still alive that wrote one of the Chronicles that detailed our exploits? We've always called it the Dedigne Codex...?" Harry desperately wished that Hermione were with him, as she'd know what the man was talking about, being a walking encyclopaedia herself.

"Er...sorry," he said. Belgarath sighed.

"Well, Sorcery has existed a long time before your civilization was even established, you know," he told Harry. "How about you get comfortable? This may take a year or two." Harry's eyes widened.

"But I can't, the Order is out there, my friends, and Voldemort has to be defeated! I have to get back to school in two weeks!"

"They have a school for sorcery? I thought we banished organized magic," Belgarath said, frowning, seemingly missing the point.

"Yes, its called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry suggested, slightly proud of his school for not the first time, "But Sir, I can't stay here for too long, even though you're all powerful and all, because my friends'll be worried." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "If you're so powerful, then why didn't you defeat Voldemort and fulfill the prophecy? Why pick me?"

"Erm.." Belgarath said, smiling, "As flattered as I am, I assure you, you've been destined for this task since the creation of the World. But somehow, all of the Children have at one point looked to me for guidance, and that sort of confirms your fate I think."

"Ok, I'm lost," Harry said, quite bluntly. Now that he was properly fed and watered, the old man's arcane explications made him only more impatient to get off the island and back to England.

"First off, the magic that you're used to is only a grain of what magic truly is. Tell me: do you and the rest of the sorcerers of your world use something to channel your power?"

"A wand," Harry said, and Belgarath, surprisingly, laughed. 

"Sorry," he amended, "And are you forbidden to translocate, and change forms? Into animals, I mean?"

"I'm assuming you mean Apparation? And Animagus?" 

"If that's what you call it, then Yes."

"Well, for Apparation you have to be older than seventeen, and get a license. And to be Animagus is very dangerous, you have to follow these detailed instructions, and a whole lot can go wrong. And you also have to be registered, but a few of my friends have done it," Harry answered knowingly, thinking about Sirius, Wormtail, and his father.

"That's only a few differences between true magic and those forms of entertainment that you call sorcery."

Harry couldn't help but crinkle his nose and assume an unconsciously offended expression.

"Don't get me wrong, but with magic, you can do absolutely anything you want, raise the dead, slow down time, change the weather, I assume all those things that you're now forbidden to do?" 

He nodded. "Its because Aldur-my master-and UL-the father of the world-before they left the World put restrictions on these things. About five thousand years after the final Confrontation between my Grandson (the Child of Light at the time) and the last Child of the Dark--who was nearly my great-grandson--something happened that sort of altered the course of time. And not for the first time, but I and my family had been keeping up the balance between the Two Destinities, and filling in the gaps, and then for seemingly no reason at all, The Prophecies seperated again." 

"Pardon me, for interrupting, but I don't understand. I thought you made Magic only seven thousand years ago?"

"I just sort of encouraged it in that Woman--Lucy, was it? But it actually existed eons ago."

"So you didn't really create Magic?"

"Unfortunately not. No one really _created_ Magic, it was just a part of the creation of the World, you know, a peculiar talent that some people seem to have developed more than others."

"You mean to tell me that even Muggles are magical?"

"Muggles? Non-sorcerous people, you mean?"

"Yeah, they try to deny the existence of magic altogether, how can they have it?"

"That was the whole idea, when Aldur sort of erased the concept of sorcery and witchcraft from the minds of men. Made them mortal. Did you know, that before this whole thing, sorcerers were immortal, and if you knew about how magic was made, that you could nearly die when you chose to?" Harry was completely enraptured at these new concepts and notions that Belgarath was explaining to him.

"So where are all these other people of the world you come from?" he inquired curiously. Belgarath's face saddened, and the wrinkles in his face seemed to sag under the weight of his frown.

"When UL and the other Gods decided to reduce the extent of magic and create a new, simpler race of people, all of my family--except for my wife Poledra, of course--went with the Gods back into the Soul of the Mother Universe, where they came from."

"What'd you mean? Their all uncreated?"

"Of course not. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed. It can only be transferred from one form to another. I just volunteered to stay in this form, and as the Prophecies ordained me and Poledra to be together always, my master bid me to watch over the new world, and make sure the Destinies didn't split apart again."

"But if I'm here, you obviously failed, right?" Belgarath scowled deeply, and Harry drew back a little in his chair.

"Of course not!" he declared, "Well...maybe...a little...yes." He looked down, and Harry was astonished to detect a faint hint of shame on his wizened face, but which was gone as quickly as it came.

"How did you do it?" Harry asked.

"Well, there was this little boy, Albus and his brother Aberforth that were born just recently- a century or two ago--"

"Wait a minute! I know him, Albus Dumbledore!" Harry interrupted excitedly.

"Of course you do," Belgarath said, "He's an important part of the Prophecy. But I made a mistake in letting Aberforth be born. I was supposed to be watching his mother, you see, but she went and slept with this Dal--one of the few that UL didn't turn into a half-stallion.

"We call them Centaurs," Harry informed.

"Centaurs then," Belgarath agreed, "Well, soon he was born, and then the two Spirits possessed him to foretell a splitting of the Prophecies--which of course had to be carried out because Seers, Dals, across the world repeated it, and, well, you know the rest, I presume."

"No, not really," Harry admitted, "Dumbledore doesn't tell me all that much. You meant to say it was his brother who is responsible for me having to defeat Voldemort now?"

"Voldemort is the Dark Child?" Harry nodded, "Actually, the Two Spirits have been aching to have another serious match like this since five thousand years ago. The Dark Spirit won out the last time, and the two times before, and the Dark the time before that...well, I gave them many little conquests to fight over, but I suppose that wasn't enough. I should have been more careful."

"What was the question?" Belgarath asked after thinking for a few more minutes. Before Harry could reply, Belgarath said, "Ah, I remember, was Aberforth responsible? No. You were meant to be the Child of Light ever since the world was created, as I think I've said before, and whether or not Aberforth foretold it wouldn't have mattered because you'd end up being the Child of Light and contend with the Child of Dark the same."

"How is that possible?" Harry asked, crinkling his eyebrows in an attempt to understand all the philosophical thoughts presented to his somewhat out-of-shape mind. Belgarath frowned as well, remarkably enough.

"Maybe I was meant to fail," Belgarath offered a length of time past.

"Then there would've been no point in Eldur-was it?" ("Aldur," Belgarath corrected) "Aldur to go back to the Soul of his Mother with all the rest of your people."

"No, no actually, if it weren't for their going back, this new world would never have been corrected, and you would never have come into existence. Maybe everything that's happened was supposed to happen for the world to be exactly how it is now. And maybe they knew that the Prophecies were supposed to split apart seven thousand years later, and they just fed me the lie, of the "Last Confrontation", for me to make sure that you're the one who becomes the Child of Light. Come to think of it, they've told me that every confrontation between the Opposite Destinies was the last one, but it's still not over yet. And I'm _tired_!" Belgarath almost complained. Harry looked at him in shock for about the tenth time.

"You know sir," he said, "You don't act much like the most important man in the world." 

"If you mean that I should wear royal clothing and act like a cocky, all-knowing bastard, that sort of attitude kind of wore me out just a few years after I learnt my magic. My daughter-in-law, though, seems to take some sick pleasure in acting like she has a pole shoved up her butt. And its been about twelve thousand years."

"Erm--" Harry began, turning red from containing his laughter.

"So lets get started. Or would you like to have some rest before that? Maybe some ale, or beer?"

"Started on what? I'm supposed to be back at Hogwarts in less than two weeks, and my friends still think I've been kidnapped by Voldemort. I'm quite afraid I can't stay with you. Unless you'd consider letting me go for just a bit so I can tell them about it?"

"I wonder why they made someone as stupid as you the Child of Light anyway. Now I've lost all hope altogether," Belgarath barked irritably. Harry was about to defend himself, when Belgarath explained.

"You see, boy," he began slowly, as if he were deaf, or mentally impaired, or even maybe merely to insult him, "I AM A SORCERER. Which means I can _slooowww tttiiimmmeee,_" he said.

"Well, I'm sorry," Harry said, more than a little disgruntled. 

"It's okay. I reckon these days you have to use an enchanted device for that too?"

"A Time Turner," Harry replied.

"Doesn't it get a bit tiresome, having to use a stick to enchant things all the time instead of just doing it yourself?" Without letting him answer though, Belgarath went on, "But then I suppose that learning how to do even that much is considered a grand accomplishment?"

"I didn't even know Magic existed for eleven years."

"It was the same with Garion--my Grandson--My daughter, his Aunt Polgara raised him, and wouldn't tell him about his gifts until the same age, despite all my efforts. Needless to say it took him quite a bit of getting used to. And all he regularly did for about a hundred years afterward was to break down doors. And hunt, of course."

"Hunt? You used Magic to hunt those days? Why?"

"No, of course not. His favorite form was of a wolf. And he could hunt quite well in that form, I mean. Come to think of it, you may prefer that form yourself, as its in your blood."

"You mean to say you're related to me?"

"Not by blood, but by magic. Where _you_ an orphan, by any chance? Raised by an aunt or uncle?"

Harry frowned, thinking of the Dursleys and Voldemort's murdering his parents. He told Belgarath the story, now quite unconcerned about time, though he was still a little worried about how his friends were getting on without him.

"That's how it happened with Garion. And Eriond was an orphan as well. But he was raised by no kindred."

"So what exactly does this have to do with you and I being related?" Harry asked diffidently, a little afraid of Belgarath's wild mood swings.

"You and I share the same magic. Even though the God's put a lot of limits to magic they weren't, clearly, able to eradicate it, unless they were willing to give it up themselves, and since you're the Child of Light, you're magic is uncorrupted by any of their fiddling. Even though you've been brought up by people who have severe limits to their magic, it was beyond the Gods' power to put the same limits on you."

"So you mean I can be just as powerful as you one day?" Harry asked.

"Of course not. That would be an unfair advantage over the Dark Child, wouldn't it?" Harry nodded reluctantly. It wasn't like he was a sickler for power or anything, but Belgarath had a peculiar way of making the notion very appealing. "You can be just as powerful as me one day, but that day will only come after you carry out all the errands appointed to you by the Prophecy." 

"Which means that you're going to tell me all of these things, then just expect me to use a stick to enchant things again?" he asked wryly. Harry had no idea why he was being so blunt when usually words like these would've never come out of his mouth to anyone of Belgarath's stature. It was just the particularly offhand manner of his that put him in a most welcome ease. Belgarath grinned.

"Why do you think you're here? To sit and chat? Trust me, my pupil, when you get off this island, you'll be beyond sticks." 

"You mean you'll teach me how to use Wandless Magic? And be Animagus? And slow time? And change the weather? And...all that other stuff?" Harry asked enthusiastically.

"Don't get too excited. I will do my best, but I'm warning you, It'll take a long time. Each time you use a particular ability, half of your energy will be drained of you. And you'll have to rest another day before you regain enough to use it again."

"I knew there was something to it."

But Harry was secretly excited nonetheless. 


	10. Back to School

A/N: _man..._ I just read over that Chapter 9 crap again, and BOY does it have a lot of typos. I mean, a few spelling errors are alright, like "Blegarath" instead of "Belgarath" but it doesn't even sound too much like I'm speaking English! Geh. I know its awfully written, but I swear, once I finish the fic, I'll fix the technicalities. I couldn't stand myself to know I'd written something so _bad_! Hmm, well, atleast other peoples don't seem to think so, and I'm a little glad of that (*sheepish grin*). I have quite a few things to say to a few of these:

**Anonymous**: Thank you for reviewing. Really, I like that you've not lost patience in me. 

**Adam McCabe**: For your compliment: "best fic". I'm not completely certain of the validity of the statement, but it did inspire me to write chapter ten, which is (I think) a good thing.

**BeholdtheVoid**: My most loyal and faithful reviewer and critic, and all-over glorious guy (ref. to bio). Te di muchas gracias, mi friend, for your pointing-outs of critical errors. I want to say, although, that though I didn't explain it well, I really meant for Harry to be the Child of Light, and Voldemort Child of Dark, and Belgarath hinted that the Gods deliberately lied to him (I think, but maybe I don't remember rightly). Plus: I wasn't serious when I said I'd put Raistlin in, I just happen to be mighty fond of his character (note pen name). And I never got the impression that he was too serious 'bout that whats-her-face, White-Robed sorceress, which keeps me sort of interested meself (however gory his description). I am disgusting, ain't I?

I'm planning a David Eddings fic (possibly a crossover again, but housed in the Eddings-verse) sort of explaining how Belgarath came to be marooned on that stinky island off the Alaskan coast with only the sober Poledra for company, and what exactly happened to offset the two destinies despite Eriond's near perfect presidency over the world. I mean it _has _been thirteen thousand very boring years of peace, and it'd be quite a disappointment for us fantasy fans if there were no brink-of-existence, world-at-sake-save-the-mysterious-magical-artifact/defeat-the-bad-person-as-foretold fighting between Good and Evil after all that time, no? And I (I promise you) will be sure to read both _Belgarath the Sorcerer_ AND _Polgara the Sorceress_ to avoid any grand flops in plot. But if I do make mistakes, you'll correct them, yes? *winks* That was a thinly veiled plea for you to continue R/R-ing, if you didn't notice (-_-;). The Eddings fic should be out in a month, more or less, just in case you were interested in that *coughs again*.

**All others**: Thanks much for your wonderful feedback, reviewing, and adding to faves, which has kept me at it, when without it I'd've given up yesterday, more than likely. Unfortunately,** All the things you are** is suffering from that same fiercely dreaded, altogether awful fate, so please bestow the same kindness (R/R) upon it, if it isn't too much to ask? It is much appreciated. Thanks guys.

* * *

"Oh _no_!" said Molly, "It can't be true, Dumbledore, the _thestrals_ have crossed over to--"

"Not all, Molly, but it's a bad sign."

"But that would give him an unfair advantage, wouldn't it?"

"We're going to have to try a little harder to muster a better army than this. My relations with the centaurs leave it quite impossible for me to negotiate anything at all, and since Harry's returned, we haven't been able to trace Voldemort's location."

"Come to think of it: Harry has been a little odd, hasn't he? I mean, he told us that he'd had an Apparition accident. Ended up on a deserted island which even you couldn't Trace. You mean to tell me that the Giants being at the right place at the right time was coincidence? Then how did he manage to Disapparate without his wand? I don't think he was taught that..."

"I don't know. I really don't think Harry's telling us everything, but I guess he's entitled to that. It doesn't concern me that much for some reason, and mostly it _is _sort of plausible. Besides, we have things a little more important to worry about, as Voldemort now has the help of the Giants, Half the thestral race, the dementors, as well as the Death-Eaters, when we're right close to powerless."

"I suppose you're right."

And with that, Molly Weasley and Albus Dumbledore, the chief strategists of the Order of the Phoenix, worked well into the night, delegating responsibility and sketching the basics of their diplomatic policies for interspecies negotiations. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, were also up in a different end of the house, catching up.

"I've read the Dedigne Codex, but I thought most of it was fiction."

"Belgarath said that Eriond, when he'd fashioned us--a simpler race of people--he'd sort of enchanted our minds to psychologically discourage any notions of the Old World. But he told me, and I'm allowed to tell one other person."

"Er...why?" Hermione asked.

"Well, the Dedigne Codex only chronicles up to when the last gap was bridged right? The business with the dead star? Well, the next gap popped in that same time. It's all a cycle, you know, like War and Peace. The Codex says that when the gap is restored, peace is eternal, but it's not telling when its going to be another dying star."

"I see," said Hermione, "If you told everyone that they're doomed, that Evil will come back any time now, even the supposed "Gods", then everyone would live in fear won't they?"

"Yeah. But imagine telling Aunt Petunia that her nephew is the only one between her and the Apocalypse," he said, grinning wryly. Hermione grinned back. "So since I'm the only one who knows this, and everyone is still under the enchantment, I'm the obvious choice for the next Watcher. Belgarath is nearly twenty-thousand years old, and he's tired. He and his wife deserve to go back to their friends and family, and he asked me if I'd like to take over for him when I'm finished with all I was born for."

"And?" 

"Well, I couldn't refuse?"

"So why tell me all this? You're to be the Guardian, not me, right?"

"Yeah, but I'd get bored on that little island, don't you think?"

"But you just assumed, without my consent, that I'd accompany you to that island to live there for another twenty-thousand years, leaving behind my life, with no one but you and the birds to talk to?" Harry looked a bit pensive at that. It was true that he had never considered Hermione's opinion of the matter...

"Well, it'll be atleast a hundred years more before we'd have to go over there. And we wouldn't have to stay _indefinitely_ on the island. We can sort of sneak off in disguise. Belgarath and Poledra do it," he said at long last.

"I don't know, Harry..." she said, "I mean, I'd do it because you're my friend and all that, but it's twenty-thousand years we're talking about here. It's like you're asking me to marry you...And I _am_ supposed to die."

"Yeah, I forgot about that." He thought again. "But his grandson Belgarion's first sacrifice was an ironsmith named Durnik. And he was resurrected. It was in the Codex. And you could marry Ron--I just want you there as a friend, for company, you know."

"Maybe," Hermione answered. But oddly, she sounded as uncertain as he felt about the resurrection as well as the marriage thing. "Did you really spend a year on that island?"

"Yea," said Harry, "Wolf taught me a lot of things, Apparation and Animagus, for example, but it still takes me a while to turn into other forms than a stag. And Dumbledore was right, wandless magic really _is_ dangerous. It's very draining." He launched into a detailed account of all that Belgarath had said, and taught him, and Hermione listened very intently. 

Around three a.m. though, Harry's storytelling was interrupted by frequent pauses and elaborate yawns. He stopped, turning to Hermione propped up next to him on the bed where they sat, about to ask her if they could talk in the morning, only to find her fast asleep, and leaning slightly on his shoulder. He stretched out his legs, and using his newly learned magic, pulled her down upon the bed. He turned to the wall, tugging a bedspread over the both of them in the process.

In the morning, Neville woke them.

"Sorry to interrupt you two," he yelled loudly, causing them both to startle awake. "Didn't mean to interrupt," he winked, "but Molly wants you down for breakfast."

"Didn't know he had such a dirty mind," Hermione muttered to him, or maybe more to herself, "But then again, he's sixteen, what else has he to think about?"

"Oh, the Dark Lord Voldemort, maybe?" Harry suggested, more than slightly offended as he was sixteen and male, and thought about plenty other than sex.

"Well, you're an exception, Harry," said Hermione fondly, going to her own bathroom down the hall to brush her teeth. Despite the apologetic note in her voice, Harry pondered, he couldn't help but feel that his male pride was slightly wounded.

At Breakfast, Neville and Hermione explained to him all that they had done in the time of Harry's self-discovery. Cherian Crompton was still at St. Mungo, having his wizard's asthma treated, so they'd learn the wand safety with Moody, which (courtesy to all the warnings that nearly every Order member had given them) none of the three were looking forward to.

Needless to expound, it was boring. Filled with entirely useless methodologies and do's and don'ts and a whole lot of shouting "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" The one thing which Bartemius Crouch Jr. seemed to captured perfectly about Moody's character.

A lot of tedious wand safety lessons later, the three returned to Hogwarts through Floo. 

* * *

Ron reread the break-up letter he wrote Hermione. Then the one Hermione wrote him, about Harry's Apparation mix-up, and what they had been up to. It took him a while to decode it with all the cryptic references she put in to avoid any conflicts caused by interception, but once he'd figured the first few out, he got used to the pattern, and it became easier. 

What had he been thinking then, he wondered. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe Harry's accident was some message and maybe symbolically, Harry really wanted them not to break up. He and Hermione were best friends, and maybe if they broke up, then it would be bad for Harry to have their relationship so estranged. But then, he had been a bit distant the beginning of the year. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Hermione was rubbing off on him, truly.

And as these thoughts chased themselves through Ron's head, there was a boisterous Harry, his best friend, rushing in through the Portrait Hole.

"Harry!" said Ron, roughly embracing him. And then kissed Hermione on the forehead. Neville, who (to Harry and Hermione at least) had been very forward and outgoing, seemed to shrink back to his same old shell, and merely nodded to Ron when he shook his hand.

"How about some Dinner then?" Harry suggested, feeling almost as perky as he sounded for the first time in his life.

At Dinner, everyone at Gryffindor table that Harry knew, and even the younger years whom Harry wasn't all that familiar with, greeted himself, Hermione and even Neville warmly. There was even an insult, which Ron effectively countered, from Malfoy.

Harry's eyes wandered all over the Great Hall, through the chatter of the students to the Teachers' table, to the ceiling, and the view of the Squid outside, feeling nearly exalted. He was nearly sure that he was well matched with Voldemort, and if he died in the struggle, things would still be alright in the end. The gap would be patched by himself, atleast temporarily, until another Child was chosen. 

He met Hermione's curious eye, and answered her. 

"Everything seems different now." Hermione smiled understandingly.

"I know," she said.

"What seems different?" Ron asked perplexedly. Harry shot Hermione a panicked glare--he'd assumed he wouldn't be heard over the sounds in the Hall.

"The school, Ron," Hermione answered, "From being indoors for nearly fifteen days. Why'd you have to be so nosy? You'd be happy too. Those people can get really irritable." Harry thanked her silently.

"I see," Ron said, turning back to the filet on his plate. 

And Harry suddenly met Snape's wandering gaze. Occlumency lessons. He had to explain to Dumbledore, or atleast tell Belgarath to alter his thoughts as he'd done before so his own memories of the long encounter wouldn't be revealed to him. But of course, he'd already told Hermione about Belgarath, so his quota of one person was used up? He decided to consult Hermione after dinner.

He caught her in the common room after dinner, where she'd just won a few games of chess with Ron, as he was walking up the stairs to bed.

"Come with me," he whispered urgently. He nearly pushed her out of the Portrait Hole, not noticing Ron watching them both from the top of the steps.

"So what do I do?" he said to her, in the same classroom that they'd met nearly two months ago when Hermione told him about her job offer. She bit her lip, frowning in concentration as she thought about it.

"You tell him about Belgarath. And don't reveal anything beyond the Dedigne Codex. Tell him that you met Belgarath in one of your dreams, and he told you the details of the Prophecy--which he should already know--but that you're sure Snape doesn't need to know."

"Brilliant!" Harry said, and headed off to Dumbledore's office.

"Er..._Harry_."

"Oh, right. You can have the cloak, Hermione." He handed her the silvery robe and sprinted off, hoping not to incur Filch or the ghosts.

"There's no place like home," he said to the gargoyle, and rushed up the stairs to tell the Headmaster exactly what Hermione had bid him.

"Are you sure you're telling me everything, Harry," the Headmaster asked. Harry was momentarily disabled, as he had expected just a blank acceptance of all his explanation. He nodded, hopefully convincingly. Dumbledore believed him.

"Alright. Since you've had enough training, I'll resume your Legilimens training." That was not what he expected, not at all.

"B-but..." he started, "Sir, Belgarath said many things that I was told not to reveal."

"Even to me, Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes were intent and steadily azure, "And if its so easy to tamper with your dreams, couldn't _Voldemort_ easily access these private memories of yours?" 

Harry considered it, then replied:  
"But if I'm always taking precautions, taking Sleeping Draughts to suppress my dreams and abstaining from Quidditch Practices and not concentrating on my friends, and my--studying," he threw in, for the effect of it, "How am I ever supposed to build my defenses?"

"So you want to dream freely, then? Let your mind wander?" Dumbledore said, and Harry detected that the man was almost scolding him. He nodded, nevertheless. "Very well then. I will grant you use of my Pensieve. And you will only have one lesson a month. And on the other three days, you will tutor with Minerva McGonagall. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Harry nearly fainted with relief.

"You are dismissed."

He thought for a bit that tutoring with McGonagall sounded nearly as bad as detention with Snape. But atleast he could now have Quidditch Practice for five to seven on weekdays and do Homework on weekends...he mentally planned all his activities. Sixth year was draining. And with the year that he spent under Old Wolf's apprenticeship had dragged it out ever further. He was ready for school to be over, however much fun Hogwarts was, so that he could go on to be an Auror, or maybe teach Defense in some school. Marry Hermione...

He jerked himself from his day (well night) dreams, and walked faster back to Gryffindor Tower.

***

"You're both keeping secrets from me." Ron did not turn away from his cereal bowl as Harry and Hermione exchanged a wary glance behind his back. They took a seat on either side of him.

"No we're not," Harry replied automatically.

"Yes. I'm no dunce, Harry. You are. And somehow I think its more important than you and Hermione having a secret affair."

"You know that may be it," Harry said, not completely dishonest. Both Hermione and Ron fixed him with glares.

"I hate you," Hermione said warningly, after a while. And Harry was surprised. He turned to her. "You're ruining my life," she growled through clenched teeth. "It's not enough that I pledge to die for you, is it?"

"Hermione, I didn't ask you to--"

"No, you didn't ask, Harry." 

"I'm sorry, I should've asked then, I'm sorry, okay? You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"_What_ is going on here?" Ron was ignored, although, as Hermione gave Harry a last icy glare.

"I've to get to class," she muttered, and walked off.

"You're not going to tell me, then?" Ron asked again to a silent Harry. He, too, said nothing, and left the table wordlessly.

"All right, then," Ron said, sighing.

"It's okay Ron," said Luna. Ron was too dejected to be surprised that she was once again at the Gryffindor table.

***

That night, Ron made a decision.

"Harry, Hermione," he began in the deserted Boys Dormitory to where he had taken them. He was pacing in front of the beds, as the both of them sat uncomfortably far away from each other on the bed. "I won't ask you about this great secret of yours as long as you promise to act civil to one another again. The first quidditch match is tomorrow night, Harry, and Hermione--you're our biggest fan." To his pleasure, Hermione couldn't contain a small smile. "And I think you'd be surprised at what a team Ginny's trained for ya, mate," Ron informed Harry. Harry's eyebrow shot up.

"Ginny?" he asked.

"Yes. Ginny." 


	11. Sap

A/N: Ok. I skipped the year with Wolf because it would be entirely a Eddings/HP thing, and so I figure why confuse people? They missed a whole chunk already, when I brought in an entirely new fantasy realm, but I guess I didn't make that clear, so here you are. The year was _only a year in concept_. Belgarath slowed time, those few days he was on the island, to fit the space of a year to make room for training. And I understand that is sort of confusing, and as I'd just skipped it, it impresses a sense of deficiency and haste, but not all people have read Belgariad or Mallorean, and it would be unfair to those people.

Also: I know that only conscious witnesses of death are able to see thestrals, but I think it would be just as scary to see all your teachers flying off on seemingly nothing but air.

Lots of yeh asked for fluff. So here you go. Fluff. a little of H/H, H/R, AND a teenzie lilo H/G. Though that may not be what you wanted _exactly_, it's there...

Special thanks to **Annala** and **vamperfly** for reviewing, and for those people who put me on their faves -_-

* * *

The clouds hung low, casting a cheerless cast to the the already bleak and foggy day. The Quidditch game persisted, although, and the students' enthusiasm for the well-matched game quite contradicted the mood of the skies. The pall rolled upon the ground as a giant, living thing, swirling statically and shrouding the entirety of Hogwarts school so gloomily that it even spurred rumors of magical origin. Yet people filed to the Pitch as any other day, and the teams clustered in front of their respective dressing areas, hovering close together on their jittery broomsticks and discussing last minute strategies to cope with the incompatible change in climate. 

The match was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, randomly determined, but unmistakably well-matched. The faces of the Slytherin players (with a new Chaser and Keeper) were all visibly apprehensive, despite Draco Malfoy's attempts at encouragement.

"_We're_ going to win. That idiot Potter and his cronies and even that Weasley have no chance 'gainst us, we're unbeatable you hear me?!" he was shouting. If the Slytherins were somewhat encouraged by his lecture, all trace of such a positive emotion were wiped out when the faint strains of "_Weasley is Our King"_, sung by three united houses, reached their ears. 

"Oh sod it!" said Malfoy, "I'm having all of you expelled if you don't win this game!" Malfoy cried, and the players were suddenly all too serious about the fated match. 

On the opposite end, Harry was having a bit more luck. He had cast the Impervious Charm on all of their eyes, improving their visibility somewhat, as well as himself, and distributed the rocks-turned-compasses that Hermione had transfigured only an hour earlier, instructing them to attach it on their broomsticks (where instead of North it said "Audience").

"Take your time, and take advantage of the weather. Remember, Bole and Derrick always aim for the ones with the Balls, so Roy and Barnes, the game's all yours." 

They exchanged a brief "Go Gryffindor," as Madam Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air.

A Hufflepuff fifth year was doing the commentating, but she could only speculate on the happenings on the Pitch, as no one could see (as she could not) where anything or anyone was for certain. Luckily enough, the Gryffindor Team wasn't the only one to take advantage of the weather, because the Snitch was flitting freely about, gleeful as it thought that no one could see it for once. Harry, of course, noticed very quickly, and caught it, but had to hold its struggling form and fly up to Madam Hooch's visibility so she could see the game was over.

When she saw it, there was another high-pitched whistle, startling the players (who hadn't yet done anything) as the Commentator finally caught on. 

"POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH IN RECORD TIME!!" she yelled into the mike, and less than a split-second later, they could all hear the ecstatic screeching of the audience, and to a lesser degree, Slytherin's boos of protest.

The team lifted Harry up and threw him in the air, much to his nauseous chagrin, as they caroused noisily up to the tower. Hermione came running up to them when they had just entered the school. Through helpless giggles, she informed them that Malfoy (in his rage) had incinerated his broom.

Unfortunately, their celebrations did not last too long.

Harry, upon return to the Tower, many out of house congratulations later, ran up stairs for his cloak. In the fashion of the Weasley Twins, Ron had suggested they have a proper party with food from the Kitchen. 

He could hear Ron's toast "_To Malfoy's Broom!_" and then Hermione's fearful command and the sudden silence that followed. Curiously, Harry went back downstairs.

"Harry!" Ron was yelling, "Harry! Come've a look at this! Harry!!"

"Calm down." Harry then obediently looked out of the Gryffindor window, and saw that Dumbledore, Hagrid, McGonagall, and Flitwick, mounted on thestrals, were flying away from the castle. He exchanged shocked looks with Ginny and Luna, who were standing right next to him, waiting for his reaction. Nearly all of the Gryffindors, including the ones who had not attended the match and had sought refuge in their dormitories were gathered behind them, looking on with tense and scared faces.

Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, flew in through an open window on the opposite wing. Molly Moon, a fellow sixth year alerted him. "Harry, there's an...er...phoenix for you," she said timidly. He accepted the letter noting the recognizable purple Hogwarts seal. It was obviously from Dumbledore.

It read:

_Harry,_

_ By the time this reaches you, I, Minerva, Professors Flitwick, Hagrid, and Snape have possibly left to the front. We had news of a planned ambush by the dementors on our Army stationed in Romania, led by the Lestranges (we suppose). Bill, Charlie, and Arthur are commanding our forces (it was a thousand Quintapeds we'd gathered before the battle). If you get this message, then unfortunately, one of our Commanders have died, please do NOT tell Ron. There is no telling when we'll be back, as it depends solely on how bad off we are. This message will be visible only to you, Hermione and Neville, so please let them know as well that they are now in charge there at Hogwarts for the students' safety as Order members. I've sent owls to the others notifying them that classes are cancelled until otherwise notified. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy, and a few other Slytherin students (you may note) will be absent by the next morning, for obvious reasons. Hermione, please don't worry too much, Neville: your grandmother has asked us to convey to you that she will come to pick you up tomorrow evening. Use my office fireplace to Floo._

_-Albus Dumbledore_

Harry was genuinely shocked. If Fawkes had come personally, then it was more serious than any of them had imagined. The scared, and despondent looks on all the faces surrounding him served testimony to it. If there were any doubt that the Dark Lord had risen, then the state of the students who were present then was surely solid proof in support of it.

"What? What is it?!" Ron said impatiently, seizing the parchment he held. "It's empty! What the hell is Dumbledore trying to pull!" he angrily thrust the parchment at Hermione. Harry looked at her anxiously, waiting to comfort her at the slightest sign of distress.

Her eyes filled up with tears, and Harry's heart wrenched. It was as if the droplets racing down her cheeks, the slight sob she let escape as she repugnantly handed over the letter to Neville in his turn were the true weapons of Voldemort, and the real impact here was not the unfair triumph of Evil over Good, but the effect that the truth had on her, and all those loved ones losing their lives.

"No, Harry, I'm not going," Neville said monotonously. Harry had rushed to Hermione, wrapping his arms around her as she had around him. "Who is it? Why won't he say?" she had been muttering over and over, as Harry murmured the same soothing declarations, "It'll be alright," and simultaneously restraining his own tears. He wasn't sure it would be, all that mattered was that she stopped crying.

"What's going on?!" Ron screamed. "I have a right to know!"

Harry looked at him, hoping that he could see the sincere apology in his voice. Dumbledore had condemned him. He hated Dumbledore's putting him in this awkward situation; Ron had to know if his own family was dead first. Not him. He had no right to intrude upon this whole mess. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, mate, I can't--"

"NO!" Ron interrupted, the panic intense in his wavering tone.

"Harry?" he heard Ginny's small voice. "Please...?"

"NO, I can't! I'm really sorry!"

"I'm not going, Harry," Neville said, giving him the seemingly blank parchment, and wordlessly walking up the stairs. The rest of Gryffindor was looking expectantly at him, and Harry suddenly felt a surge of anger. Why was he feeling guilty? Why was everyone turning to him? He felt Hermione sobbing silently on his robes, and the warmth of her tears, he looked at Roy and Barnes, then even Luna's questioning gaze.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly, holding Hermione closer to him. "Go to bed. It'll all be alright in the morning."

And without a word, but many a suspicious glare, they all slowly went back to their Dormitories, despite the fact that it was only nine-thirty.

"Harry," Ron began angrily when most of them had gone, finally victim to the unendurable tension, "let go of my girlfriend." His voice was icy, and his tone filled with hatred. Harry shook his head again.

"Don't do this, Ron, _please..._"

"LET GO OF HER!"

And Harry, suddenly feeling as alone as he had in Number 4, Privet Drive, before he ever knew Hogwarts existed, extricated himself from Hermione's rigid embrace.

"_Ron!_" she hissed, watching him walk out, "_How could you DO that_?! We're over!" And she too, went to her dormitories, out of tears and filled with not unreasonable anger.

Ron felt instantly horrid, looking around the deserted Commons. But he deserved it, didn't he?. They shouldn't have been keeping secrets from him anyway. He lay down on the couch by the window, and closed his eyes to fall into a restless sleep. He deserved it. Definitely.

***

Harry's dreams that night were nothing short of cataclysm. He repeatedly saw Voldemort's face, and that familiar scene where Molly had encountered the Boggart at Sirius's house, and saw her family dead. For some odd reason, he saw Grawp, lying pathetically wounded, on the mulch of the forest floor, surrounded by Aragog's family.

"_I'm saw-rry!_" he was crying hopelessly, "Hermy said Eat Hagrid!"

Then there was Hermione, sobbing unhappily on Ron's broken leg in the Shrieking Shack.

"Don't cry," a dementor hissed, apparating into the place, "You'll soon be dead." It held out its lifeless arms, as Hermione, smiling, rushed to embrace it, and kiss it's deadly face.

"No, no!" Hermione replied, "Ron will marry me, and you'll kill Harry." 

He was at that place--the pond, and underfoot there were dead bodies. All the people from the Order, people he'd seen on the streets, anyone and everyone he recognized lay there, dead. He could hear Hermione screaming for Voldemort to leave his baby alone. 

And he was portkey-ed to the War. The real one, and he could hear Dumbledore's whispered commands to the garrisons. And Arthur was sobbing in a corner, in the arms of Bill Weasley, and McGonagall was comforting them both. Snape was assigning dispellers to frighten away the dementors with the Patronus spell, and Lupin was hurriedly teaching a few younger Order members the charm, and handing out bars of chocolate. There was blood everywhere, and screaming as the Dementors moved in to suck the souls out of the frantic dispellers.

"Leave my baby alone!" he heard Hermione say as if from far, far away on the horizon. He wanted to go to her, to take the child, but he was frozen in the same place.

"Stand aside!" Voldemort said, "I am not taking any more chances with this!"

"Leave Harry be! Take me! I'm the Sacrifice, remember?!" she was screaming. And there was a flash of green light. Hermione fell to the floor in a dead heap, and the baby cried pitifully, and pierced the solemn air around him with his wrenching wails.

Harry screamed once, noiselessly. Then, afflicted by the awful reality of the dream--the true possibility of such a thing happening, opened his wide eyes to see only the ordinary canopy of the white four-poster upon which he lay, in the Room of Requirement. It was dawn.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir?" there were a few gasps from around the room.

"Dobby?"

"Yes, sir, what brings you to the kitchens, sir? An-a-thing to eat, us shall fix it for you, sir."

"Yes, a glass of water, please? And some breakfast, if you can spare it. If there isn't any, that's ok too."

"Of course," Dobby said, scurrying off. Another house-elf came to him.

"What would you like, Mr. Potter," he said, bowing gracefully.

"Whatever's easiest for you to prepare. Just don't ask questions." The house-elf nodded, bringing Harry a platter of the finest fruits, and a nut flavoured porridge with pieces of banana in it in less than five minutes. He ate hungrily, making conversation with Dobby and a few of the younger house-elves that had clustered around him.

"How's Winky?"

"Why she's doing much better, Master Harry, just yesterday she actually put a fork on the Big Table with Dumbledore on it."

Harry smiled. "And what is your name?" he gently inquired of a tiny, frail looking elf, clad in the customary rags and looking up at him with that huge, blank, worshipping gaze. The elf whimpered, then proceeded to hit himself on the head with a nearby spatula.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Please, I order you, don't do that!" Harry said, "What's you name?"

"G-g-gunther, Master Potter, Sir," he replied, and Harry could hardly hear, "Dumbledore talks m-much well o-of y-you s-sir," he said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What does he say?" The house elf looked slightly more confident.

"That you are being very skilled wizard, sir, and the only hope to defeat the Most-Feared, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Really?"

"Yes sir." Harry smiled at the beaming Gunther.

"I have to go now, its almost six. I can still get a few more hours of sleep, and I suggest you do the same."

"Oh no sir," Dobby knowingly replied, "Us do not need but an hour or less of this sleep. Us are sturdier creatures, though to be as Great as Harry Potter, suppose requires a lot of sleeping, sir."

"Er...I guess." He waved. "Bye." The house-elves chorused a collective farewell as Harry stepped out of the Kitchen to go back to the Dormitories. When he got there, although, he saw two familiar figures sitting on the couch by the window, in the far end of the room, conversing in low tones, and quickly hid behind a bookcase to avoid being seen.

"I understand, Ron, I feel the same way," she was saying. 

"But you can't tell that stupid prat--well, you can't tell Harry, ok?" Hermione, to Harry's dismay, smiled. 

"You don't expect him to just take it all in silence, when no one talks to him or says anything? You know Harry, he'll blow up."

"I don't care what he does. I don't want him anywhere near you. And after what you told me he's been saying, I don't trust him too much."

"You shouldn't," she said. But Harry completely missed the sly wink they exchanged. 

"I'm still not too happy about this."

"I wish I could, Ron," and Ron and Hermione's faces inched closer. Harry turned away, disgusted. She hated him too. And they both didn't trust him. They thought he was temperamental? The couple parted finally, and headed off to an early Breakfast, discussing the make-up work Hermione was supposed to finish for Transfiguration. Harry retracted into the shadows as they passed, depressed beyond words, or even feelings. 

***

At Breakfast that morning (a few hours before), Professor Sinistra stood up on her chair, calling for attention.

"Students, settle down!" she called. "Your Headmaster and other teachers will be back very shortly, they're away on some important business. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Until they return, however, classes _will _be cancelled. Please do not go out onto the grounds, or wander the halls after the dark, or alone before dark. Thank you." She removed the Sonorus Charm, and sat down. Whispers broke out, and a whole deal of pointing occurred in Harry and Hermione's direction, though they did their best to ignore it. Ron was turning pinker and pinker by the second, as he poked at his plate, and his expression grew more indignant.

After they ate Breakfast, the students happily returned to their respective House Commons.

When Ginny saw that Harry hadn't eaten any Breakfast, and had been sitting in the same spot in the shadows of the Common Room, she was worried. She told Luna to hold the game ("Don't cheat!") and disregarding her teasing smile, went to talk to him.

"Harry?" She noticed his frown turn into a sort of strained smile.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Are you okay?"

"'Course I am, what makes you think I'm not."

"Harry...you haven't talked to _anyone_--"

"Because no one's talked to me. I'm talking to you, aren't I? Sit down." He gestured to a chair next him, wedged against the wall and staircase. She obeyed, flipping her hair out of her way. "Good game yesterday," he said.

"You didn't even let us play!" she exclaimed, "I'd been training those four so hard, and Ron too!" Ginny noted that Harry's face darkened faintly at the mention of her brother. 

"It's okay, Harry," she said, trying to curb her hesitancy, "Ron doesn't mean it at all, he just gets all riled up sometimes. I wish too, that you could tell me what was in the letter, but I don't blame you. Ron just doesn't know what else to do."

"Ginny," Harry replied agitatedly, "Shut up, because you don't know what you're talking about."

"I was just trying to help, Merlin!"

"I'm sorry," he cut off, "So what about that game, eh? Oh, did you find out if Ravenclaw's any good this year? We're playing them next, you know."

"Yeah," and they talked endlessly about Quidditch, then Professional teams, then finally Ludo Bagman and his exploits (somehow) for hours. 

"Harry," said Ginny, after a while of comfortable silence, "I've always liked you."

"I guess I did too, Ginny," Harry replied, scanning the room for Hermione and Ron. Ron was nowhere to be seen, but Hermione was in front of the fire, giggling with Luna over some illogical article in _The Quibbler_.

"No, Harry." The seriousness of her tone turned his eyes irrevocably to hers. "I've _really_ liked you." She blushed. "And I know, maybe,...you think I'm not good enough for you or something..."

"Of course not!" He protested with a wave of his hand, deliberately setting Hermione's flagrant image to the back of his mind. "How about next Hogsmeade weekend, you and me go together, mm?" Ginny's face brightened, then fell again.

"This isn't a trick, is it?"

"Well, would you feel better if _you_ bought the Butterbeer?"

"When did I say that!" she said, and they both laughed. But Harry mentally cried out. Atleast Ron would be happy now that he was finally dating his sister as he'd wanted all along, and Ginny actually liked him too. What more could Harry ask for?

Hermione.

But that was really absurd. She had just recently admitted that she didn't at all like his assuming that she would come to the Island with him, and doubly so because she was supposed to die for him. He reattached his mind firmly to what Ginny was saying. Something about...Dungbomb Prices. 

He nodded. And Ginny smiled at him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

...maybe.


	12. A Rare Phenomenon

A/N: To **BeholdtheVoid**: I haven't read _Belgarath the Sorcerer_! And you shouldn't be givin away stuff like that! GRR...but whatever. I can't complain. I guess I'll just have to find a way to amend that time concept somehow. Thanks for pointing it out though. 

Thanks to **lolo12red**- For putting me on her faves. 

To answer many questions especially **IrishPhoenix**'s: Yes. It IS H/Hr. And **MelladeRanged**: Yes. Ew. I didn't like that last part either, with Harry and Ginny on that date, they just did it on their own, I swear it. Yes he is leading her on, and I _do _say, that he'll only get more and more sinister as he goes along with that idiocy he insists on playing out. But on Harry's defense: He really doesn't know that it's evil yet because he's doing it impulsively, to somehow try to make Hermione jealous, and he is sort of a twit in regards to the opposite sex, so forgive him, yes? It'll turn out quite well in the end. 

And excuse me if Hermione's a little OOC here, coz this is my first H/Hr. 

And R/L shippers: please don't be disappointed if I don't put them together. I need Luna for other things. and N/G (if anyone does support it--it does look kind of odd, doesn't it?): I'll tell you now, it won't be happening. But nothing's definite. If the characters want it, I guess I'll have to go long with that, so don't lose hope.

For the past 'bout three or four days, I've been talking (mentally) in that Pirate brogue. Didn't O.B. rock in _Pirates Of The Caribbean_? But I must confess: I found I liked Johnny Depp a lil better (castigate my betraying heart). Put it in y'all'ses reviews if you're with me! ^.^ 

Speaking of them things: Thank you all for the positive feedback, (**LadyLightning**, **ZeroEnder**, **shdurrani**, **David M.Potter** especially) and I've never gotten so many reviews in a day (twelve!) So erm...uh-huh. *nods*. Read on.

* * *

"_Two months_?!" Neville complained.

"Hush dear," his grandmother said sternly.

"If I may interrupt, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione, "Dumbledore will be back really soon. By the end of the week most likely, so there's not much need to worry."

"I know dear, that isn't why Neville is leaving." A flicker of curiosity graced her face momentarily. "His uncle's funeral."

Hermione's mouth widened to a tiny o, catching herself, she nodded.

"It's all right, Armoire--was it?"

"Hermione, madam," she corrected in a small voice.

"Armione, right."

"I'M NOT GOING! Bad enough that I missed the Halloween Feast already, I'd have to miss Christmas too! Not to mention Quidditch season!" Neville said, eyes flashing.

"You ARE going. Now gather your things. I want you to be in the Headmaster's Office in ten minutes, else I'll make sure you are, Got it?" Neville stared bravely at her for a few minutes, then sighed, casting his eyes downward.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now er...Ar-Er-Harmony--"

"Hermione, Mrs. Longbottom."

"Yes, Hermiry, I want you to tell that boy Harry to keep his chin up, ai? Poor child, however he's gettin along without Lily and James I'll never know. You do know Harry Potter? The one with the scar on his forehead?" 

"Yes, Of course."

"It's the exact likeness of a lightning bolt, d'you know, saw'r it meself." she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

"I know."

"And he can do a perfect Patronus!" she wagged her finger in Hermione's face.

"I know, Mrs. Longbottom, he himself taught me the spell." And that seemed to please the Old Lady.

"Really?'

"Yes. He taught a lot of people. Mine takes the shape of an otter."

"That boys shows some promise. Bury me if he won't be the greatest wizard in the world someday. He'll follow in the footsteps of Dumbledore, mark my words," she told Hermione, seemingly disregarding the confession that she herself could produce a corporeal Patronus, not unlike Harry's.

"I'll be sure to convey your regards, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione.

"And get to know him a little better, will you? Neville here is one of his best friends." She waved her wrinkled hand in the general direction of Neville standing next to her with all his things and a disgruntled expression on her face.

"Gran, that's Hermione Granger, she's his closest friend!" he said.

"What did I tell you, Neville? Go to Dumbledore's office now, before I have to drag you there myself by the ear. Do you really want me to embarrass you in front of this pretty girl?" she said, and Hermione giggled. 

"No, Gran," Neville admitted resignedly.

"Bye Neville!" said a familiar voice from the staircase.

"Harry!" 

"Oh hello, dear boy," Mrs. Longbottom said. "Excuse me, if you will children, I have to go make sure my grandson doesn't get lost." Harry came down the stairs and went to his favorite chair in front of the fireplace.

"Poor Neville, eh?" he said to Hermione, who took the seat next to him.

"Yeah," she replied, staring into the ever-crackling fire, "When d'you reckon Dumbledore'll be back?"

"I--" he stopped suddenly, and took in a deep breath, frowning. "Do-erm-Does Ron really hate me?"

Hermione turned her startled eyes to him. She sighed.

"No, he doesn't."

"Do you?"

She gaped at him for a bit.

"Of-OF course not!" she stuttered, clearly taken aback.

"You do," Harry accused, "And I don't even know _why_!"

"I don't hate you!" she asserted.

"Yes, you do. And I already said sorry for asking you to the Island with me, and you don't have to come, what else do you expect?"

"Harry!" she said, "I-Don't-Hate-You."

"You do. You said so."

"When?"

"At Breakfast that day."

"Harry! You're having me keep things from my boyfriend, and you automatically promised my dead soul to some old man who lives on an island, isolated from civilization. I quite like my civilization, even if I'm dead, living in it."

"Hermione that makes no sense!"

"Yes it does, and you'd be upset too if you were going to spend your entire lifetime with someone you love, and they didn't even ask you first. It's the sort of thing that's really special to a girl."

"I _said_ you didn't have to, so why are you stressing this, Hermione?"

"But I want to!" 

"What?!" And Harry had no more to say, being so shocked by her proposal as he were.

"I want to."

"What about Ron?"

"Sod Ron. I don't love him, and he doesn't love me."

"But you--I--you said I--you were talking--yesterday, I heard you--but I..."

"Yeah, we broke up yesterday. For Good." she smiled so happily that Harry instantly bent his head, closing in the space between them, and kissed her. But a few seconds after their soft lips crashed together, Harry felt immensely guilty. Guilty? Why...he couldn't quite remember.

"Oh no," he murmured against her cheek, pulling away, "I can't."

"Er...what?" Hermione whispered.

"I asked Ginny out."

"WHAT?!" Harry stifled a small grin at her reaction.

"You were never this jealous when I was with Cho," he remarked coyly. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"I never had any reason to be."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't, now what did you say about Ginny?" she said quickly changing the subject.

"I asked her to come to Hogsmeade with me."

"Why?"

"Well, she said she'd liked me, and I said I liked her, and it just...seemed right at the time--"

"SEEMED right?" she retorted, "You said you liked her?"

"Yes. And I do." Her face fell, and instantly Harry amended, "But I felt really bad right after because she's a great person and, well, I couldn't get you out of my mind, and that's the real reason I asked her."

"Oh, you idiot," Hermione said, but the prideful little smile on her face contradicted her words. She whimsically pulled him to her over the armrest and held his face at the crook of her neck. Harry, genuinely puzzled (though immensely pleased at the affectionate gesture), hugged her back.

"So what do I do, then?" he asked, nervous.

"Well..."

"I can't let her down, because then I'd have to explain why I don't like her."

"And she _has_ fancied you for ages, now--" Hermione added.

"She already thinks she's not good enough for me."

"Really! I'll have to talk to that girl about that!"

"And Ron'll be angry enough."

"Don't worry about Ron."

"But I just can't tell her I'm in love with you, Hermione. I just can't! I think she suspects already!"

"You're in love with me?"

"Er...I thought we just cleared that up."

"Harry, you don't tell a girl you love her so quickly. It takes time. You have to get to know her first then--"

"But...oh whatever. I don't care about all that. Just tell me what to do, eh?"

"Why? You put yourself in this mess," she replied.

"Well, you're the reason for it."

"So?"

"I suppose you're going to have to let her down really, really easily. Go out with her for a couple of dates, then give her the old, 'you're like a sister to me' excuse."

"That's evil!"

"Yea, but it works, I've done it with a few boys myself."

"A few boys? How many have you dated?"

"I do my best, Harry, and as you two always assumed I was studying in the library, it didn't really hurt when I snuck out a few times."

"Yeah, right, you'd skive off homework for boys, and then Voldemort and I'll turn 'round and be best chums, eh?"

"Oh fine! It was two dates with that cute Seventh Year Hufflepuff--Jack Melon, and a muggle guy-a twenty year-old that did the plumbing at the house over the summer, ok?" She glared at Harry, whose shoulders were shaking as he tried to suppress his laughter. 

"Jack Melon? Hermione-that bloke has enough brains to fill a teaspoon! Dobby's smarter than that useless looker!"

"Harry! Don't insult Dobby like that!" Hermione said, then realizing what she'd said, joined in his laughter.

When they'd both calmed down relatively, they resorted to looking in the fire again. The raging blizzard that had begun three mornings earlier blew on, and Harry and Hermione were lost in thought, yet alone in the Common Room whereas all the rest of the students were tired of the monotony of the company of their own house-mates, and possibly lounging in the hallways or empty classrooms.

"I wonder why Tonks stayed at school."

"I dunno," replied Harry, "maybe to stand as lookout." 

"Yea."

"I had a dream that night...that...I didn't tell anyone about it."

"About?" Harry regarded Hermione's alarmed face, censuring his words properly so that he didn't distress her.

"It was--Hermione don't be angry alright--It was Charlie..."

"What?"

"The person--"

"I know--but are you sure? I mean, it can't be, how can he..."

"There's worse."

"What can be--?"

"Ok. I've been having the same dream, alright, with this stream, with dead people's eyes and limbs at the bottom," noticing her grimace, "I know, I don't like it much, but I think Voldemort finds it soothing, and I do too, because he does, you know?" she nodded, "And I'm walking on people's faces. People I know."

"Awful!" she exclaimed.

"But I keep walking, like it's just the way things are, and then the sun is setting, and far away, I can see shadows. I see you, then I see Voldemort in front of you. You're holding a bundle in your hand, and after that it's almost like the night my parents died."

"How?" she said, perplexed still.

"Well--I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you, but..." he took a calming breath, "You have my baby in your hands, and you're telling him to take you instead, then Voldemort says that he's not going to take any chances this time, and then you die--and then the baby cried, and I felt like I was going to die! Hermione, I never want it to end that way!"

"But where were you? You were the baby? Or if the baby was yours, then you were dead?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I'd rather die than let that baby go. He was so little--and you--you looked so scared!" Harry suddenly felt immeasurably embarrassed. He was reduced to such an emotional state as to cry over dreams. "I'm sorry," he told her. But Hermione was deeply engrossed in thought. Her brows were furrowed as she bit her lip.

"Harry, that _could_ be a premonition, but considering last year, I think it maybe just Voldemort trying to scare you into the same thing you're doing now."

"I never considered that." And after a pause, he said again. "But I still couldn't take the chance if there was ever a possibility."

"No. You have to defeat Voldemort. Don't you see that you're the only one you can? And its not only about you--think about all those people he and his Death Eaters are killing! Think about Charlie. If that really were your baby, then imagine--Molly is going through the same thing you're trying to avoid. Would you want to wish that upon her?"

"No."

"Then you will defeat Voldemort. To me, the Prophecy just seems like a really good opportunity to avenge your parents. And me," she added, as an afterthought.

"You won't die." She gave a sad smile.

"I will."

"You won't."

"Alright, then."

"Hermione, you're not going to die."

"You know what I think we should do? Dumbledore said you could use the Pensieve, right? I say we go up there right now, and analyze this dream of yours."

"Ok. But you're still not dying." They stood up and filed out of the Portrait Hole.

"Hey, do you realize this means we'll get married in the near future?"

"But you just said that it was Voldemort's illusion."

"Or a premonition."

They went up to the office, empty of even Fawkes. Florean greeted Harry with a smile, and he noticed that Phineas Nigellus, as well as many of the portraits around the walls were empty. 

"Hello," said Hermione sweetly in her teacher-reserved tone to the few Headmasters that were awake. Harry pulled out the Pensieve from the cabinet which Dumbledore had left open, trying to keep his eyes from straying to the other interesting gadgets stored in it. Who knew what havoc one could wreak with them anyway? He placed the bowl on the table.

"Alright, I'll put in my dream, I'm not quite sure how to use it--but," he stuck his wand to his head, thinking of the dream, and mimicking what he'd seen Dumbledore and Snape do, "and then you just lean close there," he deposited the black thought into the Pensieve and pointed his wand at the surface of the bowl. Hermione obediently leaned in, and he saw her form being pulled in. "I'm not sure if I can get in though."

Hermione ran out, tripping over her own feet, and falling on the floor, clutching her stomach. She threw up on the floor, retching painfully so that Harry turned his face away, as he reluctantly rubbed her back.

"Disposelo," she said, and the bile on the ground vanished. She stood up, as Harry rushed to steady her. 

"Water?" he asked, and a jug appeared in the air, filling a glass then moving towards her. She gulped eagerly.

"Harry, that was horrible!"

"I know."

"I don't want to ever discuss this again; let's go, alright?" And Harry was more than happy to oblige.


	13. Dallying With Dals

A/N: Thanks to a lot of people, most notably **darksamurai13**, **dragonsprincess**, **dumbledore-2003**, **A-man**, and **harrypotterfreak**. 

**BeholdtheVoid**: Would you believe me if I said I were testing you? Lol, I didn't think so. Blame it on my moron ness. That's not a word either, is it?

* * *

In the old days it was said that wizardry was a most harmfully eminent curse in itself. One was rebuked at any sign of the faintest perpetuation of the concept, and it was really quite obvious why. Or so the muggles said. Now, magic was all well and good for the people who could do it, but to those who could not, it was just a teensy bit intimidating in terms of power difference. Sure it was like a small ratio of people, but they together could eradicate the entire human population. So the muggles, being so inclined and intent on fearing and hating such a person with the said gift, made quite a deal of getting rid of it. Melly Andrews, being borne of the same category of muggles, was in conflict.

She was forced to suppress her magic for nearly twelve years, which can be quite an ordeal if you went around blowing up everything just for the sole reason that you were afraid, and were told afterwards to look like you had absolutely nothing to do with it. And so random objects just burst to smithereens right behind, or beside her, and she would just gape with wide eyes, her hands clammy and her body shaking with unseemly tremors. Naturally, all the muggles around automatically suspected her to have rigged the previously-having-exploded material. Teenagers these days were getting more and more psychotic--no one ever knew what they would do next.

Melly just got more terrified at their reactions, and there the cycle repeated. When she got her Hogwarts letter, albeit a bit late, needless to say, her parents were scared out of their wits, and confined her in the basement for nearly three weeks before they overcame it enough to feel guilty. Of course, neighborhood curiosity perked, noting the absence of the odd little girl, so they just sent her to Hogwarts to be rid of her, and consequently, the horrible rumors.

So Melly, being of such a background, felt a very personal connection with Harry Potter, the resident Golden Boy, or in the case of the very large minority, just the attention-seeking troublemaker or suchlike. She worshipped him, but like Colin or Dennis Creevey, from fifth and fourth years respectively, she noted that she got a great deal more acknowledgement for it. He actually talked to her, for a welcome change, rather than sullenly or politely steering away from any attempts at conversation on the part of Colin. 

Harry had once said to her, when helping her with quillpen to inkbottle transfiguration, that he felt more at home at Hogwarts than he ever had in the 'home' he had known for the whole of his life. Melly had exactly the same viewpoint on the matter. Her parents loved her, but she knew it was more a grudging, and conditional love than anything else. They tried their best, so to keep from straying to self-pity, by Harry's suggestion, she ascribed it to their upbringing that they were so narrow-minded. He was very helpful in most things, and despite their four-year age difference, Melly couldn't help but feel a sort of reverent, slightly romantic affection for the so acclaimed, near legend.

She, by default, fell into the "Fan Club" clique. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, though in fifth year, took a very personal interest in her well-being, as did Colin and Dennis, when they inferred of her affliction with Harry Potter. They initiated her into an unofficial "Harry Potter Admirer's Society", and as corny as that sounded, Melly actually felt it very appropriate. After a lifetime of separation from her family, and conventionally _normal_ people, Harry was the first to make her feel a little welcome. And it may have been that he was the first to talk to her like she was a human being at the Platform on the first day, but psychologically, she constantly associated him with security, and acceptance.

There were also a few Hufflepuff second year girls, and about five or six Ravenclaw first years--wizard-born, who openly admired him, and she (as well as the Creeveys, Ginny and Luna) were held in a sort authoritarian position among them. Of course, the last, and the most devoted member of the little club was the feared Moaning Myrtle, who had an overlarge crush on Harry Potter, much to Melly's immense aversion, and inadvertent chagrin. She didn't _like_ him or anything, that sort of thing was taken VERY seriously, especially in the preteen years (she preferred the term 'attracted to'), but it was just...disgusting. As a result, she really didn't get along with the sensitive girl, nor spend much time with her. It was more Ginny, who seemed to have some kind of inexplicable, mysterious connection to her.

When she had asked Myrtle about it one day, curious to the point of decent politeness, she had let slip something about a Chamber, and talking to her when she was imprisoned, but nothing more was said. When Melly went back and mentioned it to Ginny offhandedly, her eyes nearly popped out of her sockets, and she cast some kind of charm so that she could no longer talk about it, then yelled at her for nearly thirty minutes afterward. Melly, realizing that she should have kept her mouth shut in the first place, apologized fervently, but Ginny hadn't talked to her since. The occasion had come to pass nearly a month ago, after Harry's record capture of the Snitch, (Melly didn't follow Quidditch, having no exceptional talent at it, and also being muggleborn). 

It was Dinner. A week before Christmas break, and Friday the 13th, an occasion, which the wizards treated more like April Fools Day, going about breaking mirrors and tricking the teachers under ladders. McGonagall cheerfully walked about the halls in her Animagus form, a black cat, in an enormously (and uncharacteristically) good mood, as the students (even Slytherins) made a walkway for her. Sibyll Trelawney (whom the younger years were very surprised to see even existed) came down from the Tower where she taught Divination, with a solemn and stony look on her face. She clicked her tongue at any passing students laughing at the number of pranks, many of whom were, surprisingly, orchestrated by Ginny and her feline companion Crookshanks.

"I can't believe you would do that to me! Blatant rule-breaking! I'm ashamed of both of you!" Hermione was saying off to Melly's right, to Ginny and Crookshanks, hard-faced. There was even a slightly ashamed look in the cat's eyes, although maybe she was imagining it. Ginny, although, she was pretty sure, was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Leave it alone, Hermione," Ron said, defending his sister, tempted by yet another opportunity to disagree with her. It was Melody's perception that Ron and Hermione had dated for a very long time, and they were still close, but for some reason, they had broken up. She had no idea what it was, and she hadn't the faintest speculation. Ginny knew something, but she always seemed so sad to speak of Harry, even before the Myrtle incident, and she knew better than to push the somewhat reclusive girl being of such a character herself. 

"Yeah," said Harry, and Melly's ears perked, "Come on, she's like replacement Fred and George. And even you have to admit, Hogwarts is dull without them."

"I _do _miss them," Hermione agreed surprisingly submissive, reaching apologetically over to Ginny's lap to stroke Crookshanks.

"Oh no! Have you gone soft now, Granger?!" said Ron, feigning a shocked expression. 

"I'll let it pass this once, but don't make it a habit. I quite like my cat as he is, too, so don't turn him into a delinquent, either," Crookshanks purred in unconscious response, melding his body against his owner's warm hand. 

"Ah, that's my girl!" 

"Shut up, Ron!" And Harry laughed at them through a mouthful of dessert. The students were mostly finished with their food, but Harry had helped himself to the delightful chocolate pudding, which the house elves had prepared especially by his order, though he was pretty sure that was against the rules.

"Where did you get the pudding from?" Ginny asked suspiciously. He hesitated for a second before replying.

"I have connections, darling, you forget." He wagged his finger at her as she stuck her tongue out. Melly saw, Ginny's seemingly cheerful facade that her eyes held a hopeful look, and her movements were slightly jerky. 

"So, Mel, having any problems?" Hermione inquired.

"Yeah, a little, in Herbology, the auto plant watering mechanism. It's almost fourth year Charms work, in my opinion. Really hard."

"Oh no, just know the wand movement the first time, and you'll get it after that. I'll teach you tomorrow, if you're not too tired after Lunch?" she gave a sunny smile, and Melly grinned, nodding back. 

When most of the students, and atleast half the teachers had departed from the Great Hall, an untimely owl, Hedwig, swooped in to Harry. Luna, at the precise moment, also sat down next to him, as all her Ravenclaw friends had retired to their dormitories. 

"What is it?" Ron asked fearfully. Having lost a brother to Voldemort, he was quite paranoid about letters and owls in odd times of the night, as they had more of a likelihood of conveying bad news.

"It's alright, Ron, just reports from the Order."

"How come no one intercepts those letters?" Ginny asked.

"They're encrypted with first-class, Ministry regulated Cryptogram Charms. Really Advanced Magic. Only a few people in the world can do it." Hermione smirked an annoyingly knowing smirk, which would have worked on many people, but of which her friends had pretty much immunized themselves.

"One of them being Emmaline Vance," Neville said, through a yawn.

"Neville!" squealed Ginny, "You need to be a little more careful, eh?" she whispered.

"Whatever, there's no one here anyway," he replied. "I'm going to bed. Really tired. I was up all night doing those charms Flitwick taught us."

"Which reminds me, Harry, McGonagall told me that Dumbledore said he wanted to see us first thing in the morning."

"Why would that remind you?" asked Ron. Hermione gave him a sharp look.

"Alright, Ron," Harry said resignedly, and Ginny's eyes whipped to him.

"Have you read _The Quibbler_ recently? Rita Skeeter's put out this really good article about Gringotts security," Luna changed the subject almost clairvoyantly.

"Good night all," Neville said a final time, as he left the Great Hall.

"Are you going out tonight, Harry?" Ron inquired. Hermione looked slightly put out at that.

"No, I have that Advanced Potions essay to do. And you promised to help, Hermione," he reminded. The challenging expression on Hermione's face gave way to a mixture of annoyance and eagerness.

"How about thinking of school before midnight, then maybe you'd have time for other things? Like sleep?"

"No way! I'd rather give up sleep entirely if it means I'd get to do more _homework_," Ron provoked, in a laughing tone.

"Ron," both Ginny and Harry chastised together.

"Lets go back to the Tower, shall we? Even Dumbledore's looking a bit sleepy," Luna suggested. They went up to their respective common rooms, Luna and Melody to Ravenclaw, and the rest to Gryffindor Tower. 

"Have fun you two," Ginny said, stifling a yawn, and stumbling up the stairs with her eyes half-closed.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," said Ron, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ha, Ha. I think we're a little more mature than you, Ronald Weasley," Hermione protested. When he had gone up to bed, they pulled out their scrolls and began working. About fifteen minutes into the session, although, Harry had a strange feeling that they were being watched.

"Go to bed, Mr. Prefect," Hermione said sternly, serving as an explanation. Harry smiled within himself.

"Alright, alright," he whined, "you're not that interesting anyway, you two, you and I made a better couple!"

"What did I say, Ron?" she said.

"I'm going! Merlin." Harry let out a giggle, scribbling on some space-consuming tidbit straight from the tediously prepared rolls of parchment about Feet Smelling Potions being an essential ingredient of Odor-Repellent Charms. Immediately, Hermione waved her self-erasing pointer quill, erasing the whole paragraph that Harry had painstakingly plagiarized directly from her notes.

"No, no, no. What in the world does that have to do with the relationship of temperatures to side-effects of a certain potion?"

"Well, the temperature of a Feet-Smeller thing--And Odor-whatever-thing--" Harry stumbled about. Frustrated. he put his quill down, inadvertantly spraying the paper with a little ink. He let out a ragged sigh and gave her a long look.

"Oh, I don't care what you think, but you can't just copy my notes anymore! Harry think about it here, you're not the mainstream student."

"That's not quite what I was thinking," he replied innocently.

"Harry!"

"Sorry, but you really need to lighten up." Hermione pursed her lips in that familiar way, and her face reddened.

"LIGHTEN UP?!" she said. In a slightly more composed whisper, she continued, "Harry! You're turning into RON!"

"Well, I do value his opinion a lot. It's actually sort of a compliment, really." She gaped, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Harry bent over and kissed her slightly parted lips, chuckling into her mouth.

"Don't do that!" she said, pulling away. "Gawd, you're disgusting."

"Am I?" he cocked an eyebrow as he said this, then you wouldn't mind if I--" he stood up and lifted her small figure up onto his shoulder. Hermione screamed a little, but caught herself, as she _was_ a prefect, and it was nearly one in the morning. She beat his back fiercely, and kicked her legs, but Harry didn't drop her until he was fully out of the Common Room. She landed on an unceremonious heap on the floor, tangled in her flowy robes, and rubbing her aching neck.

"You broke my spine! I'm going to die!" she said whiningly. She felt very happy, despite breaking all of a million rules in mere seconds, out with a boy, in the halls after midnight, without her Prefect Badge pinned on her chest, unprotected ORDER members, with Voldemort running loose trying to kill them. She giggled a little, as Harry stopped to wherever he was dragging her off to. He slid his hand down from her wrist, and wove them with her fingers.

"What's funny?"

"I don't know. I'm just happy."

"Cheering Charm?"

"No. Just--you make me happy." Hermione felt suddenly sheepish as she said it, as it was the truth, but she was never quite sure how Harry would react. With Ron it was easy, because she knew him so well that he was predictable, but Harry, he was just unpredictable by nature. Harry, on the other hand, looked taken aback, eyebrows raised. A second later, he gave a wide, toothy smile, and gripped her hand ever tighter, and walked even faster than before.

"Where're we going?" Hermione asked, "And why aren't we using the Cloak?"

"Well, I didn't want to wake the others by going up to get the Map and Cloak from my chest. And for the past few months I've been wandering around almost every night anyway, till three or four in the morning, so I pretty much know how Filch makes his rounds."

"When do you sleep? It's not healthy, Harry."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather have bad health than those horrible dreams." Hermione said nothing in protest.

"Where are we going, again?"

"We're going to the forest."

"W-what?" Hermione looked stricken, and with good reason. Relations with the Centaurs weren't really too hunky-dory, and they were the least threatening of all of those in the Forbidden Forest. 

"I've been planning this ever since I went to Belgarath's Island, and I think I have it, finally."

"Well, would you _mind_ telling me what in Godric's name you're up to, first, so I can tell you its a bad idea?"

"I _would_ like for you to be a little cooperative, but I do a mean Constriction Charm. Which coincidentally you taught me."

"Ok, fine, tell me, and I'll cooperate. Maybe," she added for good measure.

"You know that the Centaurs, according to the Dedigne Codex, are the half Dal half Algar horse-folk, right?"

"No. I don't remember reading that."

"Come on, Hermione?" said Harry, shivering, "Why didn't you think to bring cloaks." She gave him a deadly look. 

"Did you ever think that it was edited to protect their identities?" Harry frowned.

"Maybe not." She nodded, with a winning grin. "Ok, so there was this place called Kell, with people--Seers--who maintained and monitored the fabric of time. Seers we have these days are only the Seers from the Ancient Kell going into the future to possess people to change a certain course of time."

"That's a nice idea," she admired.

"Yeah. Well, Centaurs are actual Seers, except, well--like Cassandra from Julius Caesar, no one believes them because they're a little antisocial. Half horses--I mean, and their predictions always tended to seem farfetched and puzzling, so no one cares."

"Do _they_ know that they are from the ancient World?"

"Yeah, you see, they do. They worship the Universe, and the stars. They are the Accursed Ones of this world, like Mara, the Weeping God and his people for when they were Seers."

"So what do you intend to do?"

"Well, since their Dals, and they know the legends and the truth about the world, I intend to appeal to them as Belgarath's apprentice." He grinned.

"What if it doesn't work? How would you prove it?" 

"I would."

***

They walked to the edge of the Forest, as a gloomy air enveloped them. Going into the forest in the depths of the night was more scary than they ever thought, as this time they were doing it quite willingly, and not out of some necessity. Harry was, despite his cool appearance (which was almost to convince himself as much as Hermione), immensely nervous, if he screwed this up, he would put Dumbledore in an awful position, not to mention probably getting himself kicked out of the Order, or worse, himself and Hermione killed. He had no idea why _she_ was going with it anyway, but nonetheless glad that she was just...there.

The rotten leaves crackled underneath them sickeningly, as if they were stepping on more than rotten leaves, but not looking down, they wove straight through the trees where they had spotted the Centaurs on previous occasions. They were walking around and around for nearly an hour before ever-resourceful Hermione spotted the headlights of the Ford Impala, zooming closer to them.

"Hey boy!" she said, happily climbing in, as the car sniffed at Harry with its exhaust. He eyed her weirdly. "Take us to the Centaurs." The mossy car--now fully green, with all the paint chipped off enthusiastically went back the exact direction they came. Hermione gave him a triumphant smile.

"I _told _you we should have called for him the first place."

"You _did _not!" The car purposefully (Harry suspected) ran nearby a protruding tree branch so that it nearly knocked him off as he ducked, still grazing the tips of his hair as it whooshed past.

"Halt!" They all heard a familiar voice, and as the Impala shrilled to a stop, Harry's vengeful thoughts stuck in his throat. He swallowed, as Hermione stuttered a faint apology.

"It's meddlesome Harry Potter and his loyal friend Hermione Granger?"

"Y-Yes. Hello Bane," Harry replied, mustering an thin, awkward smile. 

"What do you want this time? I tell you, if its to take back the Betrayer, we shall not do it. And I'm quite sure that we won't just let you go back to school without retribution this time, for taking advantage of us either.

"I swear, its nothing like that! We never meant to--" Hermione began.

"Quite, Daughter. Come with me to join the rest of us so that we may all decide what to do with you."

"Of course," Harry said, mustering up his courage. This was the moment he could really do something. Completely of his own accord, and not so much an accident. He felt slightly inspired as he began jogging to keep pace with Bane, as Hermione lagged slightly behind.

The rest of the crowd were all slightly younger or much older than Bane. The women and children, or mares and colts rather, were nowhere to be seen, and Harry, seeing the numbers (nearly fifty) began speculating on how well it would all go if they fought against Voldemort with Dumbledore. He pulled all his memory of his time spent on the Island, specifics from when Wolf had taught him the Old Tongue.

"Vankume," he said. There was a gasp from a small, wide-eyed centaur in the corner.

"So I see you know of our Tongue," Bane said. "But words do not impress us."

"Ouney Manike Vekranem Endrum En Kenne?" he asked, and even the presumptuous lead-centaur was speechless. 

"I am immensely sorry. I see that you do not seek to do any such thing. We are much aggrieved." Bane lowered his head completely to the ground in front of Harry, and atleast half the others mimicked the action, the rest either neighed, or mumbling in assent. Harry, slightly embarrassed, looked around at Hermione. Who was smiling encouragingly (though looking a bit perplexed) back at him.

"And the Lady? Is she of the People, as well?" Bane said in the old Tongue.

"She is my--companion--if you will--" he replied circuitously, in the same.

"It was written in the stars that there was something about you, but being of this troublesome Algar blood, we could not figure the puzzle though we've tried for centuries."

"Do not despair, and never, as I know this myself, curse your heritage. For you are the Favored, and the Algar strength is your one true protection, though all else may fail."

"Wise words for one so young."

"Lessons from the Eternal." The Centaur's eyes widened, and he bowed again, his nostrils dipped nearly to touch the grassy earth. More of the others than the first time bowed also the second time. 

"We cannot give you what you wish to ask, Child, but we will be at _your_ service, not of the politicking of Man, and only as you command will we do."

"Do you mean to say that you will not do as written in the stars, which you have worshipped your entire lives?"

"Forgive me. But we have seen no sign of such a notion." 

Harry felt slightly nervous here. How would he turn this argument around? He sighed defeatedly.

"It is my destiny. And for me to fulfill it, I must be free of all this politicking, so that I may meet the other Child at the proper time. He has gathered a giant force, an army of mass, unnatural proportions in attempt to," he struggled to remember the word for a second, "--thwart my plans, and tip over the Prophecy so that he wins. I only ask you to match his forces so that we may ensure equilibrium."

"We will consider." Bane gave a slight tip of the head, and made a circle in front of his face, Harry reciprocated the motion (hoping he was doing something right), and bowed slightly also. He looked at Hermione, and Bane, surprisingly, spoke to her.

"Harry Potter is not all he seems. Never underestimate him," said Bane, and Hermione smiled. 

"Of course not," she replied. She walked over to him as the Centaurs' hooves clicked away far enough that they could call the Impala to take them back in to Hogwarts. They got into the car, and as it zoomed through the trees, Hermione turned to Harry.

"What did they say?"

"They were really impressed when I said Belgarath's name."

"You really learned that whole language in two or three days?"

"I told you it was more like a year--and I didn't learn it, he sort of put the seed of it in my head and it just...grew."

"So has Voldemort learned all your secrets yet?"

"No. The dreams these days are always detached. Voldemort has completely blocked out all his emotions because I think Belgarath put some kind of spell in my head to give _him _nightmares. And he can't do things so easily any more. But its wearing off, so I still have to do that bit of Legilimens so I learn to unblock dream enchantments and things."

As Hermione began another question, Harry stopped her, raising his palm up in the air. 

"It's late--four-thirty, and I'll answer your questions in the morning." Through a yawn, he mumbled a password to a droopy looking Fat Lady.

"After the meeting with Dumbledore?" she urged.

"Yeah, sure." 

"Good night. I--" she began, but the words died on her lips.

"Good night, 'Mione," he said, already half-asleep. She sighed, walking up the stairs on the other end of the room. 

The news that morning at Breakfast was atrocious. Harry and Hermione, waking up a bit later than the others, missed out on the Breakfast Daily Prophet Owls, and by the time they went up to the Great Halls to recieve the Owls, the news was buzzing about in the Hallways. Before even they heard from a student, Professor McGonagall rushed up to them.

"Come, you two, we're having him under Veritaserum in the Hospital Wing now. Dumbledore wants you to see it, for some inane reason."

"Who?" they said together.

"You haven't read the Paper?!" McGonagalll said frustratedly. She jerkily flicked her wand in the air, as a Daily Prophet materialized and floated in front of their eyes. Both their tired faces went completely ashen at disbelief seeing the headline.

**MINISTER OF MAGIC GONE MAD, DEATH EATER SUSPECTS**

* * *


	14. Allegory of Blank

A/N: Ok, alright, let's see...I have a whole bunch of people to thank...but I'll do it later!

* * *

The vacuum that was Hogwarts School bathed in a surfeit of airy sunlight that Saturday morning. The grounds, dazzlingly white, blushed by the compliment of the lucid atmosphere, so bright that passing eyes were left with dark spots in the middle of their irises for hours afterward. Dumbledore was looking out of the window then, speculating randomly that this was one of those days when his beard, in contrast, wasn't white enough to tell him what to do. Not white enough to match that ephemeral though optimistic snow. Oh, the rigors of authority, he was thinking, everyone looked to you for strength so that you hardly had any strength to look within yourself--to see that you were no different, no more courageous than they were.

There was a knock at the door, left slightly ajar for the limber McGonagall to slither in if she had so wished. He did not want to be disturbed, but thinking that introspection only made the situation worse, he gestured behind him with his right hand.

"Come in."

"Er-erm, Professor?" A timid voice asked.

"Yes?" Dumbledore let the happy, false glow envelop his face, as one of the very best of his students approached him, clearly scared out of their wits.

"Well, erm, sir--last year, you are no doubt aware that we had a Defense Association, to counteract the useless classes," he glanced at Dumbledore's slightly amused face warily before going on, "Not that it wasn't effective to an extent--"

"It's alright Mr.Finch-Fletchley, I quite believed that Umbridge was a cow myself. It's just that no one wants that position. It's possibly jinxed. I'm looking into that now, actually," Dumbledore replied, completely serious so that Justin was momentarily stunned.

"Well, we have a pretty good teacher this year, even though he's really sort of scary to me," he amended, "but McGonagall and Snape are too, and they've been with the school a long time."

"I understand all that, but I quite fail to see your point, Mr. Fletchley--may I?"

"Oh. What? Well yes, of course you may. But my point is I think besides classes we should have the association as a school-endorsed club. It was really useful for those of us who were in it."

"So you suggest that the Defense Association be open to all students?" Dumbledore asked, in his uniquely sphinxical tone. A little put off by that, Justin's thoughts wandered to Marietta, who had betrayed them last year.

"Well, maybe not. Maybe all Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs?" he suggested.

"That would be house-discrimination, Mr. Fletchley, I cannot propagate that."

Justin was silent, fixing his eyes upon the copy of _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ that he recognized on Dumbledore's desk. After a few more moments of contemplation, Dumbledore added:

"Have you talked to the other members of my Army about this?" he smiled kindly, as Justin reciprocated it with glittering eyes at "_my Army_". 

"No. Maybe I should have. Thanks Professor. I know you must be busy and all, I'm sorry for wasting your time. I do tend to ramble a lot, don't I? Well, anyway, thanks. I'll have Harry talk to you about it probably later."

"It's alright," Dumbledore sighed, ever-present smile on his face, and turned back to the window. When Justin had left the room, he heard the quavering squeaks of the infant Fawkes standing up on its spindly legs and shaking off the ashes bravely. It was hope to know that the good could be found in such obscure corners. 

"How symbolic," he mused aloud, a moment later.

"Indeed. What was he doing here, Albus?" said a familiar voice from behind him.

"Our dearest Harry has had quite an effect on bringing that boy out of his shell."

"Don't give him too much credit, Justin wasn't all that shy to begin with."

"Maybe, Minerva, but most students in this schools think of me as some kind of Voldemort, and he had courage enough to approach me."

"He's known well for his impetuousness."

"I wonder why he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor?"

"I thought you were against House-discrimination." Dumbledore looked up to Professor McGonagall, smiling almost imperceptibly, and breathed a heavy sigh.

"What news have you for me?"

"You asked me to call you after everyone was in the Infirmary." His eyebrows rose.

"Ah, yes, of course. Memory must be failing me."

"Undoubtedly," McGonagall whispered under her breath. Dumbledore chuckled softly. 

***

"I don't even know why McGonagall called _you_ in here anyway," said Hermione, "For Order members only," knowing that it was a sore spot for Ron. He was such a prat sometimes. He'd copied her Charms homework, and just on the one day in which Flitwick hadn't read her homework (because she had such a perfect reputation anyway) he had happened upon Ron's, and given him more than full credit for it. The incident had thoroughly irked Hermione, and Ron would not, whatever she might say, admit his mistake.

"Shut up, Hermione Granger, you're not the Queen now that you're in some obscure club."

"You're so immature!"

"What the hell are you arguing about now?!" interrupted Harry, annoyed out of his speculations about Fudge, "I, for one see no point in it." As Ron and Hermione glared collectively at him, he heard the rustle of robes upon the tiled floor.

"Watch you language, Mr.Potter," McGonagall said robotically. Severus Snape, Bombagoo Blek, and finally Albus Dumbledore followed them.

"Lupin couldn't make it. Only in a few days, you know," McGonagall explained in a weary voice.

"My parents?" asked Ron.

"Too suspicious. And before you ask about Hagrid, Miss Granger, he's feeding that stupid beast of his in the Forest." Hermione was about to protest that Grawp wasn't stupid, but she just restrained herself at the rare look on McGonagall's face.

She waved her wand, gesturing toward a closed off end of the Infirmary.

"Minister Cornelius Fudge, under a heavy Serenity Spell," she introduced, "use simple vocabulary, Headmaster, and try not to be too loud-the senses are slightly altered here with the combined effect of the _extra-strength_ Veritaserum dear Professor Snape gave us," she glowered vehemently at Snape's impenetrable face.

"Alright, then, let's begin. What is your name?"

"Cornelius Fudge."

"Where are you from?"

"Cornelius Fudge."

"Alright, Cornelius, try to think for a second," Dumbledore coaxed.

"Fudge."

"Right. _Where-Are-You-From-?_"

"Brixton."

"Good. Now. Do you remember the last face you saw?"

"Green."

"What?"

"Hogwarts. Old-muggle fool. Green."

"Dumbledore, you mean?" he suggested.

"No! Dumblebore. Yes Dlumbelbore...Blubbem..."

"Alright, pay attention, now. Who did you see last?"

"Malfoy. Green. Hogwalls."

Dumbledore exchanged a dark look with McGonagall, as something seemed to pass between them, and click in the others' heads.

"Ok. What is your name?"

"Green Fudge," the Minister replied. And Dumbledore's look saddened, the ages on his face in dusted lines once more.

"Was he--?" Hermione said quietly.

"As Head of House, Professor, I would like to say that--" Snape began defensively. He was abruptly silenced by Dumbledore's commanding hand.

"It is quite clear that we have yet another Death Eater in our midst... once again," he said, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, including Pomfrey bustling in the corner, trying to look as if she weren't listening.

"Who?" Ron asked. Hermione glared at him, as Snape looked down.

Before anyone could answer it, however, there was suddenly a supersonic beeping echoing around the room. They all had to cover their ears to keep from going deaf, for it was so shrill. Dumbledore muttered a few brief words, glancing at his watch, but none heard it. When the beeping stopped, predictably there was a dead silence, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as well as, undoubtedly, the others in the room, filled with a dread, mainly at the grave, rare look on Dumbledore's face.

"Shall I contact Amelia?" McGonagall asked, in a voice like it were struggling to suppress fear. 

"Yes. Poppy, will you attend to Cornelius for me?" Dumbledore said. The sound seemed like an unintended alarm for the completion of the conversation. The minister began to moan under his breath as the magic on him wore off slowly. 

"Of course, Albus," Pomfrey said, calm but for her pale face, and hands gripping the sides of her white cloak. Harry suddenly closed his eyes, blinded by the hospital bright color, his fingers unswervingly seeking the scar on his forehead. It had begun to throb with an ugly emotion, the sweat that dampened his forehead may well have been blood, the way it burned, and as if on cue, their collective attentions centered on him.

"What's it?" Ron asked, eyes wide. And Dumbledore turned his attention back on Harry.

"I think it was Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied hesitantly, looking down at his hands. The pain had gone away completely just as he'd looked down. 

"You're sure?" asked Hermione. Harry gave her a dark look, he wouldn't have said it is he weren't sure. Or...well, it had been really random.

"No, maybe not," he said, not looking at Hermione, but at Dumbledore as if for an explanation. The wizened man seemed to consider for a second, and the enigmatic eyes puzzled Harry as he registered them to know possibly what he was thinking.

"We haven't much time. We have to leave now if we want to make it before dark. I doubt Molly would approve of this..." he said.

"But I have classes, Dumbledore," Snape said.

"Have Firenze handle them. Helping Trelawney hasn't agreed with him much at all, for some reason that quite slips my comprehension," he said innocently, though the grave undertone had not completely escaped his eyes.

"And mine?" Professor Blek's harsh tone cut through the fragile air. He gestured to the grim McGonagall as well.

"You both will have to stay, then. I do not wish to alarm the students." Harry saw Ron and Hermione exchange a surreptitious glance. "It was a mistake to publish the incident," he mused softly, intending the comment more for himself than his audience.

The perfect quiet that followed persisted for no more than five seconds before Fudge began blubbering and screaming pathetically, the foam that flecked his lips, and the blank, crazed look in his eyes chilling each of them to the marrow. Harry thought that he had seen the victims of Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms, but seeing Fudge then, he apprehended the import of Frank and Alice's courage, which had prevented them from reaching the Minister's pitiable state. 

Hermione, though was looking at Madam Pomfrey, who was steadily walking across the room toward the potion cabinet, her fists clenched, having taken the brief moment to compose herself once more. Dumbledore began moving toward the exit, and the rest followed from their respective places almost methodically. Harry, Ron, and Hermione still sat, on stools next by the bed, unsure of whether to get up and resume their weekend or follow the teachers out. Obviously they wouldn't be back for atleast three days, if not more...

"Come on, Harry. Ron and Hermione, stay behind," said McGonagall in her usual imperious tone.

"But how come _he _always gets to go _everywhere_?!" Harry heard Ron say to Hermione, who hushed him. Shocked though he was by his teachers' blatant preference (Snape's!), he still listened to their argument all the way down the hall. 

***

They were going deep into Hogsmeade village. Harry had always assumed that the streets which he and his friends had traversed were all there was to it, but that, it seemed, was only the commercial center of the quaint town. As they walked further, past the souvenir store and the tea shoppe, and deep into the deserted streets lined with odd ten or fifteen story houses, Harry saw the cheerful remnants of congenial neighborhoods, where no one had to abide by the International Statute of Secrecy. The houses faintly resembled the Burrow, but he noted they were much more posh. There were yards of strange plants that muggles would probably repulse at, but Harry doubted Hermione wouldn't be able to recognize and classify at first glance. Some of the houses were majestic, looking like mansions, with dense, seemingly ever-extending forests behind them when next door, the house stood on a completely even, sand-filled lot with swings and slides, and flamboyant marble nymph fountains.

There were no people about. The whole neighborhood had a look of a recent plague, the playground deserted, the armchairs on the front porches still rocking, magazines (with moving pictures) strewn around as if in a hurry, empty dishes, and if one looked through the windows, even the houses seemed strangely empty. Harry considered asking one of them where all the people were, but he knew full well that they would most probably not tell him. What would Hermione say?

They walked for nearly an hour before they reached a small cottage at a secluded nook slightly apart from the street. They had to cross the lawn of a house and walk about fifteen minutes on the empty grass before they reached the place, hiding under a blanket of firs. It was painted completely black, and the lit windows glimmered like eerie eyes on the face of the house. Harry was about to say "There's no door!" but stopped himself, noticing a gaping void in between two windows. It looked almost like a mouth, uninviting (obviously), but Dumbledore stood right in the front of it, pulling out his wand. Snape stood behind the Headmaster, but did not imitate the gesture. Harry felt thoroughly out of place. 

Dumbledore flicked his wand, but nothing seemed to happen to the door for a while. Harry recollected one of the magicks he had read about in one of Belgarath's books, about the difference between Illusion enchantments and Repellent Spells. Knowing then that Dumbledore was removing a Repellent Spell, Harry moved slightly back, ready to experience the blow which usually came when the Spell was broken properly. Dumbledore and Snape too, moved farther away, but glanced somewhat suspiciously at Harry. 

It was still a gaping void, but they could enter it, as it was only an Illusion to keep away the intruders. Harry felt a sense of excitement bubbling up within him. Whoever was this mysterious person?

The three of them stepped through to see a one-room cabin. There was a fireplace crackling merrily off to the right, and a sofa and coffee table in front of it. A portion was sectioned off, and they could see a comfortable and frilly, pink canopy bed and matching dresser. The brick and burning cedar left a delightfully homey smell lingering tantalizingly below their nostrils. Harry's lips curled into an unconscious smile. His eyes wandered about, and caught on the far left of the wall in front of them. A brown, wooden door pushed through the bricks with a grating noise, and the knob turned. With a grand, welcoming sigh, out stepped Amelia Bones--from his trial, stern glasses no longer perched upon her nose, and sporting a deep pink set of robes. Her hair was let loose, and despite her age, she almost looked stunning.

"Hello Albus," she greeted fondly, and gave Snape a wide smile which he did not returned. Her gaze fell upon Harry, as they shuffled aside slowly to let him come up. The smile disappeared, and her eyes were firmly disapproving. Harry thought that she probably was thinking of the trial, but it proved otherwise when she spoke.

"I thought Molly said--" she trailed off. Dumbledore faced her accusing stare with that utter calm which sometimes grated on Harry's nerves. 

"Molly has agreed that this has to have happened. He _is_ a special case, Lia," he said.

"What he _is_, is a mere child!" she said strikingly like Molly. She sighed, defeated. "Alright," she said.

"Now, how are Hilly and the twins?" Dumbledore queried. She shook her head sadly.

"Anthony is taking care of them in the sitting room," she said, pointing to the place where the door had appeared. 

Snape and Harry followed Dumbledore into the kitchen, where sitting at a table, a woman was wailing loudly, being consoled by house-elves. She hardly recognized their presence, but Harry couldn't help but stop walking.

"My babies! How will I tell my _babies_!" she was saying, and Harry was thinking of his own mother's frantic pleading before she passed away.

"Oh! You idiot! I'm so--" she began to take in huge gulps of air, as if she were hyperventilating. Harry went to comfort her, but stopped, hearing a house-elf say in a consoling voice, "It's alright, Missus Fudge, 'salright. The kiddies already know, you see..." She jumped away scared when out of the blue Mrs. Fudge started wailing again. 

"Oh! My poor Cornelius!" she said, beating her heart. Harry turned away, unable to bear the sight, and walked through the door in front of him, vaguely listening to the house-elves desperate pleas for the woman to calm down. 

When Harry entered, he was bombarded with two little blond-haired twins, who looked more than two.

"Wanna play Godstomes?" one asked, and Harry agreed hesitantly. Dumbledore nodded to him as he conversed in whispers with Snape--and a balding, grim-faced man who was apparently Stephen Bones.

The two kids were utterly horrible at the game, having more fun with the foul-smelling goo than the intellectual challenge of the game, and soon forgot Harry (as well as his attempts to teach them the game). For nearly an hour, they played together, with Harry settling for just watching their good-natured playing.

"You can 'ave this stome Jelly-Ka, it has plitty pink stuff en it," one said.

"And this purple stome is nice, but it don't gots any goo 'nit, I _don't_ pleazune," replied the other, sticking a sticky purple Gobstone in her sister's face.

"Ooh, it _is_ pretty," she said, grabbing the stone, and dropping the one that she was offering her sister carelessly on the linoleum floor. It skittered about, and Angelica grabbed it before it ran off somewhere, and at the precise moment, it sprayed an excess of pink slime on her little yellow sundress--which Harry noted was already splattered with a spectrum of colors. When all of the stones were slimed out, and lay on the floor irresponsively, the twins lay staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Angelica suddenly sat up, without warning, and fixed Harry with a wide-eyed gaze.

"Do you have Daddy?" she asked innocently. Harry's brows furrowed. Was he expected to explain it to them? He looked to Dumbledore, who was too immersed in whatever he was telling Stephen, then back at Angelica's scrutinizing stare. Angelica, possibly seeing his indecision turned to her sister, who was looking at her from the ground. Her small head resting on her elbow.

"What happened to Daddy?" she asked her in a suddenly scared little voice. The girl sat up hurriedly, as if suddenly remembering that she'd left her doll somewhere unknown. She looked at Harry, then at her sister.

"I don't know!" she whispered, and began sniffling. Soon, she was sobbing quietly, and before Harry could reach out to comfort her, her sister went and put her arms about her.

"I'm sorry Don," she said, "It'll be okay." But contradicting herself, she too began crying, and awkwardly, Harry put his arm around the both of them, and they willingly sobbed into his school robes. The adults, who had stopped to see what the matter was, caught Harry's eye thankfully, and went back to their discussion.

Harry felt angry. All they thought about was talk when the true damage was being done not at the war field, but in the hearts of these fatherless children. Irrational, he thought, you're being irrational. They had to prevent this from happening again. He hugged the girls sitting on his lap tighter to him.

About two hours later, Dumbledore disapparated, and after whispering a few last minute things to Stephen, Snape too, left through the door, not even giving him a single glance. Stephen was the only one left. He conjured a makeshift sleeping bag on the floor, and Harry thankfully lifted the two little girls on his lap and lay them upon it. His limbs were completely numb, but he mustered himself to stand and face Stephen, waiting for whatever he was supposed to do now.

"Dumbledore has informed us that there's been a You-Know-Who attack, happened when he was questioning Fudge. That watch of his is amazing--" 

"Wait, you mean that that beeping was an _attack_?"

"Yeah," he said, as if it were quite obvious, and plopping casually in front of Harry, "It can sense Mosmordre."

"But--" 

"No one knows how to make it. Dumbledore has the prototype," then Stephen shook his head frustratedly, "but anyway," he said, "there's been an attack in Surrey, where you live. They killed a lot of muggles, and Mrs. Figg's been wounded. She's at St. Mungo's now, unconscious--no one's able to figure out what the hell the damned Death Eaters put on her. Dumbledore's gone to help in the Obliviating. The Ministry's still not off the scene."

"Are my aunt and uncle still alive?" Harry asked, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice, lest Stephen get the impression that he was heartless.

"Yeah, unfortunately." he smiled at Harry's slightly surprised expression "I read in _The Quibbler_ that they used muggle torture devices on you, is it true?" Stephen said, quite honestly.

"No, actually," said Harry. "Is nothing in my life private?" he said jokingly.

"The pains of living your life in the limelight," Stephen replied. He looked pointedly at the girls. "How're they holding up?" he asked.

"Er--fine, I guess--" he said. "I don't think they understand."

"No, they don't."

Silence. Harry listened closely for the lingering wails of Mrs. Fudge, but did not hear anything. As if reading his mind though, Stephen said, "Mrs. Fudge isn't so good. Amelia had to force-feed her the sleeping draught. She hexed all my house-elves, you know," he said mournfully. "Once the people have been settled, Dumbledore can be Minister and straighten this whole mess out. But until them, they'll all have to run around like chickens with their heads cut off. I mean--he wasn't a good Minister anyway--but having a bad government is still better than none at all, isn't it?"

Without waiting for a reply, Stephen went on, "I don't know _why_ Dumbledore is resisting that Minister position though. Even after all that bad publicity, all the magic community is waiting on Dumbledore's word that Fudge is really gone mad."

"You mean he'll not be Minister anymore? Can't the Healers fix him?" Harry asked, feeling stupid again that he didn't know these things. 

"Of course not. Magic can't fix _everything_ now. Look at--" he stopped, glancing up at Harry's scar nervously, as if checking himself. He remained decidedly silent for a while afterward, until his wife came in with an enormous plate of self-refilling sandwiches. Harry, feeling quite ravenous (not having had anything the whole day) tucked in even before she placed it on the rug between them. 

"Why did Voldemort attack there?" Harry asked, after a lot of pondering on the matter. He noted that neither of them flinched at the Dark Lord's name.

"Didn't you know? Voldemort doesn't know who those muggles are, or what they look like...They've been Disillusioned ever since sixteen years ago," said Stephen. 

"Of course, he didn't know, dear," said Amelia, grabbing one of the sandwiches, "he's been having to live as a muggle for eleven years, poor boy. I imagine it must've been dreadful." Harry nodded dazedly, unable to get over the drastic change between the Amelia from the ministry hearing and the Amelia he saw now.

"How's my niece doing?" she addressed Harry, "she told me about that Defense Society thing that you were '_teaching_' apparently?" There was a slightly challenging edge to her voice, and Harry tried his best to tread carefully.

"I didn't do anything, really, we just got together and learned some defence spells from books," he said, trying to keep his face from betraying any emotion.

"Really?" Amelia said, after swallowing her first mouthful of sandwich.

"Lia, let the boy alone. He didn't kill Susan, did he?" Stephen mediated.

"All I'm saying is that he's too powerful to be suppressed like this. If he's going to be in the Order, the least he could do is learn some of our techniques."

"He's still underage by Ministry standards," Stephen countered, as Harry put his half-eaten bologna and swiss down to follow the argument. He felt a slight swell of pride at Amelia's _'too powerful to be suppressed_', but which deflated when Stephen remarked that he was underage. 

"The boy's out of control! He has to be trained! Underage or not! And Dumbledore goes and inducts him into the Order without even telling him what he's getting into--"

"What'll we tell him, then? Harry, what do you want to know?" Stephen rounded on Harry, and he, taken aback, did not reply. "He'll know when Dumbledore sees fit, Lia. He has enough to handle already with those muggles put him on those racks, and threatening to cut his arm off, and what with Sirius gone, and--"

Harry stopped listening at that point, feeling the back of his eyes burn at the mention. He clenched his teeth firmly, berating himself for being so weak. He had to get over this. Sirius was _DEAD_! He plastered a smile on his face and turned back to the couple who were glancing at him as if he were fit to burst anytime. It was all perfectly fine. Nothing was wrong, or so he repeated to himself.

"All that's left is to wait," said Susan. "You'll be staying in here with the twins until Dumbledore and Table come back." 

"Who's table?" Harry asked.

"Oh, your Professor, Severus--Monsieur Table." At the look Harry gave her, she burst into an uncharacteristic laughter which echoed through Harry's mind as long as his stay in the cottage.


	15. Jealousy

He was cold. Would someone turn down the AC, he said. And no one did. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an old woman, walk over to that thing he was trying not to look at, and went into it. If he had known better, he would have seen the Prefect's badge, glinting in the light. The room was dark but for the dim glow cast by the thing. Which he'd seen, but did not wish to set his eyes upon ever again. But it seemed that Fate had woven her snake-vines about his neck, and tonight for his lack of caution, he would have to act by her. He moved his wide open eyes toward the other end from where the thing was. 

Why had he come here tonight, anyway? The thing was supposed to have been destroyed, its wicked handle along with it. Why had he chosen to walk here where he had not tread for years past, tonight? But had he walked? Of course, it was the only way to get to a place in the school. Or maybe...

He closed his eyes tightly, like a little boy afraid of the dark, but it did no good. The image of the room was filling even the backs of his eyelids, as if he weren't seeing it because it was to be seen, but because he could not avoid it. It was stitched _in_ his eyes, not floating as it should outside of it. So unavoidably his eyes strayed again to the thing. With the Prefect's Badge glinting unnaturally, and the broomstick, aching to fly, even as he held it down with his own hands. He moaned a defiant "No," for No, he would not look, the eager broom feeling like an unquenchable itch in his gloved fingers. Wood's Quidditch uniform stuck to his clammy, fear-drenched body. But "Yes," insisted she who then controlled him. For "Yes, you will." Just once, and then I'm running out, he considered bargaining, but that was so stupid the words would not come out of his mouth.

He tried screaming many times, but he was voiceless. The only one who he could address was that evil woman in his head, and even she ignored everything he said. "I will not look," he told her again.

"Just once." 

The blood rushed to his head, as he giddily turned (not of his own will). His head seemed to be limp, like his house-ghost's, nearly falling off his neck. He moved his shoulders to steady himself, but set off balance by the impatient hands, and his neck wrenched and he floated like slow-motion above ground, his heart filled with terror, and before he could feel any other sensation, he fell, landing on his head, and the blood leaked.

Ron fought desperately to open his eyes, trying to turn away from his maniacal reflection in the Mirror of Erised, he thrashed and hit the soft, solid masses that struggled to constrain him. The image gave a happy laugh, as if to say that it won, as if to say...I'll come back again, now that you have seen me, and recognized me. With a final scream Ron opened his eyes, stinging with the blood oozed into it to see a cursing Seamus Finnigan, holding his head in his hand, and Dean Thomas, who was holding both of his (Ron's) hands in a straitjacket pose against his shoulders.

"Alright, alright, pipe down. What's going on here?" There was a dark figure in the entryway of the sixth year boys' dormitory, which they all recognized as Head of House McGonagall, cranky and clad in a short pink robe, her hair tied loose at the edge of her neck. 

"Mr. Weasley, what in the world are you doing?" she said, alarmed.

"I--" he began, confused by the complete reversal of scenery.

"Reckon he had a dream, like Harry's."

"That's impossible."

Ron felt like a frog in transfig, pinned down on the table and waiting to be turned into a tea cozy. 

"Erm--" he started again, but a grumbling Seamus caught his attention. 

"Come with me all three of you. Where is Longbottom?" Ron did not hear what Dean replied, but dazedly followed McGonagall out. He squirmed, keeping his eyes steadily on over-sized pajama legs to keep himself from looking at all the whispering Gryffindors surrounding him. He knew Hermione was saying something to McGonagall, or himself, maybe, but unable (or maybe unwilling) to concentrate, he struggled with the image in his mind.

If she asked what the nightmare was about, should he? Could he tell her? He could barely even make a noise, but if he didn't tell her, McGonagall would assume the worst. An Imperious Charm or something, and he couldn't consider how much that would complicate matters. He felt stupid, quite like a full-grown adult who'd just had a tantrum on a muggle Road in the glaring daylight. How bad was it, anyway? He should just tell her.

The woman's voice said in his head, sounding just as it had echoing off the walls of the Room which held the Mirror of Erised. "Just once." And then Harry laughed a crazy laugh, his brows thick and his sunken eyes glinting with an evil light. The Prefect's Badge twinkled beckoningly on his chest right beneath the bright embroidery on his Gryffindor robes.

~*~*~  
HARRY POTTER  
CAPTAIN  
~*~*~

Harry's laughter echoed off the walls, and Ron squirmed fearfully under its piercing sound.


End file.
